The Chosen
by Lyon's Own
Summary: AU The High Lord's soul calls for its mate. Is Harry the one? In the quest for love's fulfillment, rejection isn't the only danger. SLASH CreatureFic!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I should be blazingly obvious by this point, but just in case…nope these characters and are not mine. No money is being exchanged Hah! Do you actually think someone would pay me for this drivel! No infringement is meant 'cause I'm just messing about a bit for fun.

**A/N: **Well…here we go again! I really never thought I could have more than one story going at once and I'm not sure how frequently I'll be able to update this, but I thought I'd give it a shot as this plot bunny has been scurrying around in my head for the last couple days and driving me more mad than I already am—soooo not a good thing! This is my attempt at the Creature feature/Wizard's Inheritance/Seeking a Mate genre. I think I'm going to have fun with it and who knows maybe I'll wind up doing something neat and wholly unexpected! Yay!

I'm not sure what to warn about since I have no idea where this story is going to end up but I suppose at least I should remind people that this story is/will be SLASH! I'm writing it so it'll probably end up MPREG too (but I'm not sure about that—maybe we'll take a vote later). There's a few OCs and some OOCness but it's AU so that's to be expected right? 'Kay then, that's it. Hope you have fun and please do review!

**1.**

There it was again! That stupid…twitchy feeling. He couldn't shake it and it had been two months already! He thought that this is what Neville must've felt like first year when he received his Remebrall—there was something he'd forgotten, but he'd forgotten what he'd forgotten so he couldn't attend to it. He'd checked his schedule and asked around about events and commitments and it seemed everything was in order, but still there was this niggling feeling, this…_pull_—to be somewhere or do something and he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was! It was wearing him down and he knew it. The last few weeks had been horrible. The twitchy feeling keep him from sleeping, and so disturbed his thoughts that he found himself skipping meals trying to figure out what was bothering him. He'd cancelled outings with his friends because he was preoccupied and distracted and he knew that shutting himself away in his flat was unhealthy. He didn't go out except for work and his skin had taken on a pallid hue because he'd not been in the sun in an age.

The last two days had been the worst, it was a constant—this twitchy feeling, if he didn't do something about it soon he was going to crack. Hermione was already on his back about finding a solution and she was about to drive him mad with the fire-calls, and ringing him up 10 times a day (or at least it seemed that way). He needed…sleep, a good meal, and for this damnable twitching to stop! He needed…to get away!

Harry put in for leave which wasn't a problem with his supervisor. Healer Philips had been concerned about her protégé for weeks and was glad to give him time off to take care of himself and get himself back on track. After all, not many healers had the skill and ability of Harry Potter. Wresting him from the Auror Triage Team to the St. Mungo's Surgical Unit was quite the coup and she was loathe to lose him to burn-out. A bit of travel was just what he needed. She suggested he go to the coast, the sea air was so refreshing. He'd nodded blankly and toddled off home, mumbling about feeling he should go East.

He really had no idea what had driven him, but somehow Harry decided he should go to Prague. Granted, he'd never been interested in visiting Prague before, but the twitchy feeling seemed to lessen when he'd decided that's where he should be. The _pull _was luring him to Prague so to Prague he would go.

He decided to travel by Muggle means, though he'd no particular reason to do so. He wasn't completely befuddled though; he'd purchased a couple of tourbooks and planned the first few days of his visit. He'd arrive at Prague Airport and take the ČEDAZ airport transfer service to the Riverside Hotel, a high class Muggle/Wizarding hotel, where he'd made a reservation. He could've taken the metro, but thought it better to give himself a day or so to acclimate. The guidebook said the drivers were fluent in English, which was a must since Harry spoke no other languages. The flight was…interesting. Not something he'd want to do again anytime soon, but worth the one-shot experience. He'd brought one suitcase with all he'd need for two weeks, hoping that in that time he'd figure out what the twitching was all about.

After a few nerve-wracking minutes in Customs (he'd had to charm his suitcase to look like he hadn't shrunk all his clothes, toiletries and travel items), he passed through the Arrivals gate set to keep an eye out for the distinctive white vans of the transfer service. Instead, a strikingly beautiful woman caught his attention. She was tall, with exquisite blue eyes; he'd never seen such a sharp colour before. Her hair was jet black and fell in loose waves and curls to the centre of her back. She seemed about his age or a little older, though something about her spoke of aged wisdom. Most peculiar though was that she wore an ice blue formal Wizarding dress robe and no one seemed to react oddly to her state of dress. She looked as though she was waiting for someone, and to his amazement she was heading in his direction! She smiled and he turned thinking that surely the person she was meeting was behind him, but in moments, much sooner than he'd expected, she was at his side.

"Welcome to Prague Intended. I am honoured to greet you," she said smoothly, her voice light and cheerful.

Harry blinked. She must've mistaken him for someone else, and he said so. "I-I'm sorry Miss. I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

She shook her head, "No Intended, Etienne Saw that you would be arriving today and I was sent to fetch you. You are the one I am here to meet, I assure you."

Harry was rightfully confused and said so. "Look I'm awfully confused about all this. I'm not exactly sure why I'm here but I wasn't planning on meeting anyone. How can you be sure you're supposed to meet me?"

Harry was suspicious. He'd had enough experiences with strange happenings not to wholly discount the unlikely, but in surviving a war and a final confrontation with the most powerful dark wizard in an age, he'd learned that not taking things at face value saved his hide more often than not, so he thought it best to get more information before he went anywhere with the beautiful unknown unnamed woman.

She again smiled at him, seemingly reading his thoughts. "You are uncertain. You've come to a strange country, drawn by a pull you do not understand, hounded by a feeling that has disrupted your life and you are greeted by a woman you do not know who claims she has been sent to bring you to a place you're not certain of."

She reached out and patted his shoulder, "I assure you young man, you will come to no harm and indeed I have been sent to fetch you to The Citadel. You are not the only Intended, in fact you are nearly the last to arrive, though Etienne has Seen that the last will arrive in the morning by Floo to a tavern in Hradec Králové. However, I am not responsible for bringing that Intended to The Citadel. My duty in the Amoraj is to you. Now I have a portkey that will bring us to Český ráj, the wards will be set to recognise you tomorrow but until then you'd be affected by the powerful Confundus, Disillusionment, and Notice-Me-Not charms that protect The Citadel and that just wouldn't do."

Harry blinked; none of this was making sense to him. But she seemed legitimate so he figured he'd break up all she'd said into manageable parts and hopefully build his understanding with each of her answers. "Český ráj. What is that? And what is this Citadel?"

_I have to start somewhere I guess. And from what I could gather having some information on where I'm supposed to be going with her is as good a place as any._

"Ah, the Český ráj, it is an ancient forest and our home. It means Bohemian Paradise. The Muggles have termed it a nature preserve so there are few to disturb us and our domain is extensively charmed to prevent campers, hikers and tourists from stumbling upon us."

_Like at the Quidditch World Cup, only they seem to be more successful than the Ministry was at keeping the Muggles away. And who are they anyway?_

"Who is the 'us' you're talking about? And who are you? I don't even know your name and we've been standing here talking for nearly a quarter hour."

Given that he was still a bit confused about the whole conversation Harry thought he was doing rather well in terms of keeping his head. He wanted to trust the unknown unnamed woman. By necessity, he'd developed a sense about these sorts of things. He read people rather well, and he felt he _should_ trust her. But intuition is not infallible and besides he hated travel by portkey, so he felt more information would be a good thing.

"The Citadel is our founding city. It is the base of our government and culture. There are regional councils for all the clans that meet in our cities. Some are shared cities, like London and Paris; others are hidden in deserts, forests, and mountains, away from prying eyes.

As for me, my name is Marjeta Vlcek, Clan Anata, House Arsaelan. And 'we' are vampires."

Tbc…

**A/N:** Well? What do you think? Interested in reading more? Review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and related characters, situational references and related objects belong to J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros, and anyone else with the copyrights. I do own the plot of this bit of fanfic and any original items, situational references, original characters, developed spells and like referenced original magical items.

**A/N: **Just a reminder…this is/will be a SLASH story! Oh and this is unbeta'd, don't shoot me. Feel free to point out errors, the only way I'll learn to be a better writer is if I get feedback on how I write and where I mess up. Thanks to all who've reviewed, it's good to know there's some interest. One more thing, for the most part, any referenced languages or non-English words (that aren't Czech) are purely products of my imagination, unless noted otherwise.

**2.**

-- "As for who I am, my name is Marjeta Vlcek, Clan Anata, House Arsaelan. And 'we' are vampires.--

Harry sighed, as if enough strange and inexplicable things hadn't already happened in his life, he was now in Prague, drawn by some unfathomable pull, chatting in the Arrivals terminal of the Muggle airport with a very beautiful woman—a very beautiful woman who was evidently, a vampire emissary.

_Lovely. _

Harry scrubbed his hands over his face, "Look, Marjeta. I came here because of this pull thing. It's been making me twitchy and wreaking havoc on my life. What has that got to do with any of what you just told me?"

Still smiling, Marjeta nodded, "The 'twitchy' feeling is part of the pull. It is an indicator that you needed to make your way to the source of the pull, to answer its call. It will go away once you've met our High Lord. He is the source of the pull you feel. You are drawn to him. You'll feel much better once we've reached Kynaston, the royal settlement within The Citadel."

Harry snorted, "That's assuming I actually go with you."

Marjeta sighed, "You do have a choice young man; I will not force you to accompany me, but the pull will grow stronger, the feeling of unease and disruption will increase and eventually you will either go mad or neglect yourself to such an extreme that you will die." She looked at him earnestly, imploringly, "Come with me to Kynaston, meet our High Lord and decide then what you wish to do. We will not hold you against your will Intended. You are free to leave The Citadel at any time, but you must meet our High Lord to break the nascent connection between you."

Harry shook his head.

_Why do these things _always _seem to happen to me?_

"Great. So you're saying I've formed some kind of bond with a vampire lord? Why?"

"Yes, you've formed a sort of bond," Marjeta nodded, "with the vampire _High Lord_. His soul calls out for its match and the Intended answer. Your soul has answered. But if you are not meant to complete the Amoraj you will know as soon as you enter the Kynaston. I warn you though, not in a millennia has the pull been rejected by an Intended."

She smiled at him gently, "If nothing else young man, this will be an adventure. Not many are granted access to true vampire domains. Often what is taught in your Wizarding schools is misinformation stemming from the study of rogue vampires and outcast clans. We are rather secretive beings. But come, you will learn more later. We should go now so you can settle in your rooms." She extended her hand to reveal a silver galleon-sized medallion with the impression of a lion at its centre, runes were carved at the directional points and an unfamiliar script ran the border.

"It is an Auris," she answered his questioning look, "a portkey to Kyanston that only responds to members of the Most High Noble house." She met his gaze and held it, "Trust me Intended. I swear by all I hold sacred and the honour of my House, you will not be harmed."

Harry studied her and the coin. _The Auris_ he corrected. He didn't know why but he felt through and through that this was the right thing to do, finally he nodded. He clenched his suitcase handle in one hand and reached for the portkey with the other. Immediately he felt the disorienting pull behind his navel and with a stomach dropping lurch they disappeared.

When Harry opened his eyes he was astounded. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. They'd landed in a spacious and sunny courtyard. There were flowering trees everywhere that released the most delicious scent. The walls of the surrounding buildings were warm, golden-coloured stone. The spires and turrets he could see were brilliant purples, reds, greens and blues in patterns that were both exotic and soothingly familiar. He felt incredibly at ease and more surprising (and pleasing to him), the ever-present annoying twitch was nearly gone. The buzz of excitement took its place, but it wasn't nearly as perturbing as its predecessor.

It was a moment or two before he realised that he and Marjeta were no longer alone. A very young man, no more than 16, Harry guessed, bowed to them both. "Welcome to Kynaston of The Citadel, Intended. I am Etienne, Clan Anata, House Auberon. And welcome home Marjeta, thank you for meeting the Intended."

"The honour was mine Etienne. Let me warn you now though," a mischievous glint sparked in her eyes, "this one is rather suspicious. I fear you will be spending the afternoon in explanations."

Harry turned to her, "You're leaving me? Didn't you say your duty was to me, I thought you were going to explain all this?"

Marjeta shook her head. "I was only to meet you and bring you here Intended. This is Etienne," she extended her arm toward the boy, "he will explain all that I have not and bring you to your chambers. Don't worry Intended," she reassured him, "we will meet again, perhaps after you've met with The Council."

She turned again towards the young man, "I leave the Intended in your hands Etienne."

Still confused by the whole situation but more accepting that this wasn't some nefarious scheme, Harry held his hand out to Marjeta, "Uh-thank you for meeting me at the airport Marjeta."

She took his hand graciously and smiled, "The honour was mine Intended."

Harry bristled, "I do have a name you know. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

She laughed lightly and shook his hand, "Well Harry. Harry Potter. It was good to meet you and I hope you will enjoy your stay in The Citadel, however long you choose it to be." She bowed slightly when she released his hand and swept out of the courtyard in an ice blue swirl.

In the next moment Harry realised he'd been left alone with the enigmatic young man. He fidgeted under the young man's steady gaze. And heaved a sigh of relief when…_Etienne, his name is Etienne_, broke the awkward silence.

"So Harry, why don't you come with me and we'll see you settled into your rooms." Etienne snapped his fingers towards Harry's suitcase and it disappeared. As Harry gaped, he took the raven-haired man's arm, "I can answer your questions as we go and then perhaps if you are still unsatisfied I can tell you more over tea. I'm sure you must be hungry after your long flight."

Harry nodded, still dumbfounded, "Er-that would be good. I guess I am feeling a bit peckish. And I'm still trying to absorb all Marjeta told me. She answered some of my questions but left me with a lot more."

Etienne nodded and led Harry through the courtyard and down several large corridors. After they'd been walking a while, Etienne asked him what he wanted to know.

_Oh…I don't know--how about everything!_

"Let's start with this Intended thing. What does it mean to be Intended? I've figured that it's a title of some sort but what does it _mean_? Who are the Intended?"

Etienne smiled approvingly, "Good question. Did Marjeta tell you about the Pull?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

_What's the point of asking a question if the answer is just another question?_

He huffed, "Yes, but I still don't understand exactly. She said something about your lord's soul calling out to mine and others."

"Yes, that's exactly right. That call, signals the Amoraj, which is a love quest or love journey. No one knows what causes the souls that answer to respond the way they do, but for millennia, the Intended have made their way here to The Citadel to be courted." Etienne answered as he continued to lead Harry through a maze of brightly lit hallways hung with beautiful tapestries or decorated with intricate mosaics.

Harry's head doubled back in shock as he looked up from a particularly beautiful mosaic of a woman emerging from the sea. "Did you say _courted_?"

The young man smirked, "Yes. Why else would we call it the love quest? After a new High Lord or Lady ascends to power his or her soul will call for its mate, it may be months or years or decades from the time they claim the mantle of leadership, but it happens as soon as the High Lord or Lady begins to reach the apex of his or her abilities. The Intended are those whose souls answer that call, whose souls are compatible with our Lord or Lady's soul. The number of Intended has varied through time. There have been no less than seven, no more than fifty-six, though the number who answer is considered a gauge our current the Most High's innate magical ability and power, the fewer the better."

Etienne waved Harry down yet another corridor and continued as they approached a broad staircase, "The four times I have witnessed the Amoraj, the Intended have numbered fourteen, twenty-one and twenty-eight twice. I must say that I am most honoured and excited to witness this Amoraj and expect great things of our High Lord as there are only 7 of you this time. That has only happened twice before in all our history." He grinned as they climbed the stairs.

Tbc…

**A/N:** Still want more? Review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I do not have any right to any Harry Potter characters and themes, that honor belongs to J.K. Rowling and her associates and representatives. I do however, like to borrow them and promise I'll put them back on the shelf when finished as my only intent is enjoyment and entertainment. Yeah that means no money's been exchanged, nor do I intend to infringe on anybody's rights. so don't sue me. Really, it's just not worth your while.

**A/N: **Standard warnings--this is/will be a SLASH! This is unbeta'd so please do feel free to point out errors in your feedback.

Important stuff--HBP did not happen in this universe, however the war has already taken place, the final battle is fought and obviously Harry has emerged the victor--yup fried mouldy voldie's arse, but there'll be more on that later, for now just go with me...

Again _words_ in italics indicate emphasis _sentences_ in italics represent thoughts.

My great **Thanks** to all who've reviewed for your interest. Your comments have kept me on my toes and made me determined to make this a decent story. And again, for the most part, any referenced languages or non-English words (that aren't Czech) are purely products of my imagination, unless noted otherwise. Speaking of Czech, someone left me a review in Czech (at least I think it's Czech)and I don't speak the language I'd love to know what it says, so if anyone's reading who can translate for me that'd be awesome!

**3.**

In a remote corner of the wing opposite the maze Etienne led Harry through another eagerly awaited visitor arrived.

"Hilary." A tall sandy-haired man with cruel hazel eyes spoke into the hush of the dimly lit room.

"Lord Barnabus. Lord Prakash," the visitor greeted coolly and lowered his hood.

"I take it you've procured the item?" said the man known as Barnabus.

Hilary McNair drew a well wrapped parcel from his robes and laid it on the table between them. Hands moving quickly, if somewhat shakily, he removed the dingy cloth that held his prize to reveal an intricately carved, vicious looking dagger with jewel encrusted hilt.

"The Beckoning Blade, fabled dagger of Salazar Slytherin," he said proudly, pushing the weapon closer to his buyers.

Prakash snorted. "It has certainly taken you long enough McNair. And after all the money we've invested in this little endeavour I am rather disappointed that you've had so little to report for so long. Tell me again…why you've failed to bring the dagger sooner. It has been nearly seven years since you promised delivery and I for one am not known for my patience. I wonder if we should just acquaint you with the hospitality of our dungeons and make the occasional meal of you instead," The vampire's voice dripped ice and Hilary shifted nervously under his unwavering gaze.

The wizard paled and moved to pull at the collar of his robes, then thought better of his actions. The last thing he wanted was to draw his "hosts" attention to his neck. "I-I apologize my lords. With my father exposed as a Death Eater and the Ministry's seizure of Riddle Manor and any other known properties of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, I was not able to instigate a search as soon as I'd hoped. I had to bribe quite a few people into revealing the location of the Dark Lord's lesser known holdings and investigate them slowly. Though I'd been cleared of suspicion, my movements have been superficially monitored by the Aurors. I could not risk a more direct hunt for the dagger. And of course, its existence was for the most part rumour. I-I have done my best m'lords."

Barnabus steepled his fingers and examined the shining blade before him. Its lure emanated in rolling waves. Yes, this was a weapon of great power, steeped in Dark Magic and capable of bringing his plans to fruition.

He waved off his comrade's intimidation. "The boy has served us well Prakash. We will leave him be. He may be useful to us later on."

The young man nodded relieved. "Whatever I can do my lords, I will do so willingly."

Barnabus sniffed and dismissed the sycophant disdainfully, "You will tell no one of your errand or your visit here Hilary McNair. Or I will rip your tongue from your mouth and feast on the gout of your blood.

The Death Eater's son turned a faint shade of green, scooped up the heavily laden money bag on the table and bowed as he turned to leave through the secret passages where he'd gained entrance.

When he was gone, Barnabus turned to his ally. "You have prepared the incantations correct?"

"All is in readiness Barnabus. The whelp will fall; we have suffered his audacity long enough. It is time for the Clans to return to the old ways and the traditions that have kept us strong."

Barnabus made a non-committal noise, "With his attention divided by his pursuits during the Amoraj, we will be able to move much more freely. By The Choosing all will be in readiness and we will strike shortly thereafter. He will be weakened by the bonding and distracted. No doubt The Chosen will also be feeble, despite what is said only luring 7 Intended shows how very incapable he is, how little ability he possesses. And only two of them are Kindred-born, the rest are Kindred-turned or wizards," the malicious conspirator shuddered. "He reeks of weakness and we must free ourselves from the failure of his rule."

Prakash nodded, "We will be victorious and reclaim the honour and customs of our people."

Barnabus tapped his elegant fingers on the table. "What of Casimir? What news have you had from him?"

Prakash laid several scrolls on the table. "He has done admirably, stirring discontent amongst the younger Clan members here in the Citadel and his intelligence network has been quite active. He has yet to provide detailed reports on the Intended, but he will not fail us. I expect he will have preliminary reports at least before The Presentation, which will aide us in approaching those weaker candidates. Of course he still plays the part of confidant to the High Lord and simpers about him like a love-sick fool, but much information has slipped to us from his buffoonish actions, and due to his foppery no one sees him as a threat or guards their tongues around him."

"Good. He must continue and you will continue to bring me his reports regularly. The time approaches. We must not fail."

"We will not Lord Barnabus," Prakash knew a dismissal when he heard it and stood to leave the chambers.

"Oh Prakash…" the scheming noble called before he could step into the empty corridor.

"Yes Barnabus?"

"Arrange an 'accident' for our Mr. McNair in the coming weeks. It would not due for his knowledge to slip into the wrong hands. Wizards are such weak creatures. Veritaserum can break them easily and just in case, it would be best to attend to any loose ends."

The other vampire nodded and bowed, in title they were equals but Barnabus was to be the Most High, "As you wish Lord Barnabus. I'll see to it personally."

Barnabus waved him off, greed and desire lighting his eyes as he gingerly caressed the dagger. Soon it would all be fulfilled and he would take his place as High Lord and more, claiming the position that had been denied him, usurped by some unknown whelp.

He gathered the reports left by Prakash and left the hidden room for his House. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as he moved through Kynaston. His was a plan years in the making, but finally all was falling into place. He would triumph. That it had taken so long to retrieve the dagger _had_ surprised him, but it went to furthering his respect for the Dark Lord's wiliness. It was done now, the dagger was in his hands and the incantation prepared. Soon all would fear and bow down before him, cursing their folly in allowing a mere child to take the position of Most High. That the child had a following could not be denied; many Kindred adored him and thought him an excellent leader. Fools all. He was the one who'd been raised as heir, and it was only right that he take up the mantle of Most High. He didn't know how the whelp managed to best him and claim power, but the boy's sovereignty would come to an end soon enough.

Barnabus knew there were a few minor obstacles in the fulfilment of his plan. Prakash for one. The older vampire would be…reticent--at first. He was, after all, committed to the continued isolation of the Clans. Segregation was his religion and he was a true devotee—perhaps even a bit fanatical in his dedication. Winning him over would be a slight challenge, but Barnabus thrived on challenge and had never been one to back down from any test. But once Prakash and the traditionalists of House Tipu accepted his vision, the other segregationists would follow suit. In the final reckoning Kindred would be protected and free to live unhindered by the ignorance and fear of the Wizarding world, and that was what Prakash wanted most of all. Barnabus merely needed to convince him that domination over all magical beings was, in the end, preferable to hiding away like cowards, ashamed of their traditions. Yes, Prakash would understand and stand by his decisions in this. Barnabus would become Lord of all—oh the idea was so heady, intoxicating really.

He would complete the ritual, transferring the essence and power of the Dark Lord to himself. It would be his to command, and once he'd wrested control over all magical beings, he'd separate himself from the wizard's spirit, banishing it to imprisonment in the lost dimension and immortal he would rule the world—alone.

Barnabus' eerie cackling laughter rang out as he entered his suites in House Uncas.

_I will bring new meaning to the title Most High. And sip the upstart's blood from my victory chalice._

Harry heaved a mental sigh, he'd lost track of his hallway markers. He didn't distrust the young man at his side; he'd just prefer having some idea of making his way around. Promising himself he'd go exploring later Harry tuned back into Etienne's explanations and disrupted his monologue with his own question. "Your Most High Lord is very powerful then?"

Etienne smiled, "It is just High Lord; the position is that of the Most High, which is gender neutral as we've had both High Lords and High Ladies. But yes, he is powerful; at least that is what is generally thought by the number of Intended. However, I _know_ he is powerful because the gifts of the Seer are many and varied. I see his aura clearly and recognise the power there. He is very gifted."

Harry's eyes widened slightly. He filed away _that_ nugget of information for later. "Hmm…Okay you say the Intended are courted," he continued, "What if I don't want to be courted?"

Etienne clasped his arms behind his back. "That is your choice," he said solemnly. "After you have been Presented to the High Lord with the other Intended the connection between you may be broken without harm. You will know when you see him, whether or not you will commit to the courting aspect of the Amoraj. Something within you will tell you whether he could be right for you. If not, all you have to do is say so aloud. The bond will dissolve and you will be free to go or stay and visit.

The Presentation is done in Lurèaldon, by the way. It is our most sacred language. It is not spoken so often now, but it remains the high and formal language of our great ceremonies. 'Deketh han amir sen lasagh mien vie sede,' is what you will say if you accept your place as Intended. 'Amir sa vendeth oy kaneth va,' is what you will say if you choose to reject the bond and do not wish to participate in the courting aspect of the Amoraj."

Etienne smiled indulgently at Harry's apparent misgivings, "Don't worry, I will teach you the phrases later. You needn't fear you'll mix them up. And there is no shame in rejecting the nascent bond," he added firmly.

"Some of the Intended have known right away that the Most High was not their match. Those individuals, along with those who do not become the Chosen, are called the Honoured. They are the Honoured because…well—simply put, because they will always have a high place of honour among us, after all their souls must be strong and powerful to have answered the call and they have held a type of soul-bond with the Most High, for however long or short a time, that is something which deserves respect. Some of the Honoured stay and become mated to others of our kind, others stay and yet remain unmated, and still others return to their homes and their lives before the Amoraj. Those Honoured who leave us sometimes return to visit and are welcomed.

You must be true to your own heart and soul Harry. There is no one here who wants to coerce or intimidate you into doing something you feel is wrong."

He was heartened by Etienne's words, but still…"So after I meet your High Lord I can just leave?"

"Yes Harry, if that is your desire. You can leave without impunity, though you are welcome to stay and witness the rest of the Amoraj and the Bonding if you like and in that case you are free to come and go from the Kynaston and The Citadel as you will," Etienne nodded patiently. "If you desire to return home immediately, that too can be arranged quickly. You must know though that the Honoured who do not choose to live among us are bound by a Wizard's Oath not to reveal what they have seen or experienced here. Our ways have remained secret and it must continue to be so."

Harry nodded his understanding as something else occurred to him, "Are all Intended magical Etienne?"

"Yes. All of the Intended are magical folk, though you come from all over the world; Kindred, after all, are magical creatures."

_Kindred. That must be what vampires call themselves. I need to remember that, I don't want to offend someone and end up lunch. Speaking of lunch…_

Harry cleared his throat, "Uh…about that-the magical creature part..."

Etienne laughed as they turned down a short hallway that ended in broad and intricately carved teak double doors. "Ah we are here. These are your rooms. Come Harry and let me tell you about our kind."

Etienne led Harry into the lush sitting room of a suite which could only be described as opulent. Furniture groupings of rich fabrics and supple leathers in shades of burgundy, bronze and brown made the large room cosy and inviting, and there was even an alcove study area complete with desk and bookshelves of the same dark polished wood as the room's accessory tables to one side. Etienne took him through the other rooms of his suite, a lavish bedroom, in the same colour scheme as the sitting room, fitted with several bureaus, a large wardrobe and a huge four-poster bed set with sumptuous linen; and a phenomenal bathroom that was as large as his London apartment. As Etienne walked him through each space, he perfunctorily explained where needed items were stored. When they'd returned to the sitting room, his guide perched on a velvet covered chaise beside the fire and waved his hand at the low table before him. Fresh sandwiches and hot tea made a welcome appearance, and after waiting for Harry to seat himself in the suede armchair beside him, Etienne poured them both cups of the fragrant steaming beverage.

"I trust the rooms are to your satisfaction?" He asked as he handed over Harry's cup.

The young wizard nodded and Etienne flashed him a small pleased smile. "Good. Now, to return to your initial question—yes, we are classed as creatures. This is problematic and unfortunate but such is the way of the world. Humans are obsessed with making things knowable, to that end, they label everything, and sometimes those labels are incorrect, based on assumption and conjecture rather than truth. They assume they've pinned down meaning with their labels even when to label something is to make misunderstanding permanent. And sadly, often what is misunderstood is feared."

Etienne's soft brown eyes darkened with sadness, "I ask that whatever you have learned about our kind you put aside and allow yourself to be open-minded about what you see and experience.

Kindred are rather misunderstood in the Wizarding world. We are defined by actions of rogues and outcasts who hold no allegiance to the clans and no respect for our laws. Their actions have poisoned the Wizarding world against us and left us to be classed as little more than semi-rational savages who need to be monitored and controlled. That is not who we are. We are creatures, yes, but then so are all beings Harry. We are not the beasts misperception makes us out to be. Most of us would say, and indeed our scholars and historians argue, that we are in fact just a different type of Wizarding folk—granted a very different type, but a type of Wizarding folk just the same.

We use and practice magic in the same ways for the most part, though Kindred magic is somewhat enhanced and what you would call 'wandless,' we have little need for incantations with smaller magics, and we have the added benefit of elemental magic as we are, at our core, Children of the Earth and have a deep respect for and love of nature. In return She has granted us abilities that reflect our affinity with the natural world.

There are some physical differences as well. We have greater speed than wizards, more agility and better vision and hearing. Our olfactory and tactile senses are sharper as well." Etienne chuckled, "and there are of course, the fangs."

Harry paled. _Yeah that's the worrisome-'don't want to end up as lunch'-part._

"You needn't worry Harry. We are not monsters and despite what you may have learned, we are living creatures. Not soulless or the accursed undead. We are not immortal though we age very differently, slowly. Marjeta, for example is nearly two hundred years old."

Etienne smiled at the unasked question burning in Harry's eyes, "Yes I know I bear the countenance of a man-child. It is, some would say, the curse of the Seer to be so. We are very young when we are compelled to journey on our own quests towards enlightenment and fulfilment. The age at which we achieve our goal is the age we remain in body until we are near death, at which point we age very quickly until we are returned to the Great Mother as we began, as dust and the most basic elements of Earth. As you see me is how I was when I completed the Seer's journey. I had reached my sixteenth summer just that year."

Etienne, Harry was learning, was a master of misdirection; well that or he was just really good at going off on tangents. "Soo…how old are you really?" He asked, steering Etienne directly toward answering his question.

Etienne chuckled as his eyes twinkled in a way that reminded Harry very much of Dumbledore, "Would it shock you to learn I am the oldest living of our kind? Our first texts date back to 9000 bce, long before Muggle kind developed written language. We know not what societies came before the first texts, The Book of Law and The Book of Life. These two texts are still the foundational works for all our laws and culture.

Much has changed of course, we like all societies must adapt and grow with the times, but at the core of our world, these are the guiding texts. There are copies available should you wish to read them Harry, they're not overly lengthy or dry tomes.

They provide the basis of a doctrine of respect and reverence for life that guides Kindred. That is not to say ours is a perfect society, far from it. As you know, there are always those willing to corrupt good teachings, who seek power through violence and repression. We are a proud people, but not so arrogant that we can afford to disregard the lessons of our history. There have been despots, revolts, and coups through our history, just as there are in every society. I do not wish to portray us as better than we are Harry, we are mortal creatures and as such we have mortal failings.

Etienne sipped at his tea, "But I have rambled on without answering your question long enough." He smiled, "I admit I've lost track sometimes so I am not _exactly_ sure how old I am, but would it suffice to say that my beloved mistress, Herophile, the Pythia, herself, ordered me away from her service and my home at the Castalian spring for my Seer's quest? I have not always lived in The Citadel young Harry and despite popular myth; Kindred did not originate in Romania or Transylvania."

Harry sighed as he wracked his brain—a master of misdirection _and_ the tangent _and_ riddles—Etienne was wily, he had to give him credit. The names he'd spoken were vaguely familiar, but their significance eluded him. Not for the first time did Harry curse Professor Binns. There was so much he should know about the history of the Magical world that he didn't, or couldn't remember.

Stymied, he went another route, a linguistic one. Pythia and Herophile were Greek names. What did he know about Greek magic…old Greek magic from what Etienne suggested? He looked up and found his guide's eyes were still twinkling merrily. Vaguely Harry wondered if the twinkling was a trait of slightly off, aged magical people. If it was he wasn't sure he'd want to get old enough to be counted among the ancients…ancients… Pythia…

Harry's jaw dropped as the pieces clicked into place, "You were an acolyte at Apollo's Temple? Your mistress…The Pythia…The Oracle at Delphi? That's…that's…You're what…3,000 years old!"

Etienne nodded placidly and smiled enigmatically. "Closer to two thousand eight hundred, give or take a few decades either way," he shrugged.

Harry shook his head and quickly did the math, "So on average, each of the Most High you've served as Seer reigned seven hundred fifty years?" Yup, he was officially gobsmacked.

Etienne wrinkled his nose, "Mmm…you can't really make estimates that way Harry. As I said there have been coups and for a while the Counsel governed in place of the Most High. Our High Lord's predecessor reigned only 300 years before his death. His predecessor reigned nearly 800 years. It very much depends on the constitution of the Most High and the political atmosphere during the time of their sovereignty.

For example, the Great Seer before me witnessed two Amoraj in an exceedingly short span, as her first High Lord was assassinated and the new High Lady came to power only 15 years into his reign. Nothing is guaranteed Harry. Even those of us with the Sight cannot know everything or what all outcomes will be. Predicting human behaviour is a capricious activity, the threads of many lives are woven in a tapestry beyond our imagining. What we See may be all or only part of a whole. As a child of prophecy you know that what is Seen may not always be interpreted as what will happen."

Harry nodded then perked up as Etienne's words registered. His eyes narrowed, "You know who I am?"

"That is a complicated question, let's say I know _of_ you and I hope that I will get a chance to know who you are during your stay in the Kynaston. Do you see the difference?"

"Yes I do and I thank you for making it. I hope to get to know you too." Harry smiled, "It's always nice to find someone who wants to know me for me, not for the role I've played."

Etienne smiled sadly. "I have Seen some of your struggles Harry Potter. Though we keep ourselves apart from the Wizarding world we know what takes place there and intervene occasionally. Your journeys have been long and arduous ones. I cannot say what will come for you. The futures of Children of prophecy are often beyond Sight; their paths are too undetermined, too varied to access with any certainty. But again there is more to being a Seer than just the ability to predict the future. I am Far-Seeing; I watched your story unfold though I was powerless to intervene in any way. You have done admirably Harry and you should be proud."

Harry choked back a sigh; he still wasn't ready to face everything about his past or his feelings about the war. Etienne seemed to sense this and said nothing, only reached out to clasp his shoulder. He squeezed gently then withdrew, pouring himself another cup of tea. "Would you like to know about our High Lord now Harry? Or perhaps more about the other Intended?"

Harry thought a moment, "I'd like to know about your High Lord. Why is he not a king? And how does he pick the Chosen. I assume the Chosen is the one who will become his-uh-mate?"

The Seer nodded, "Yes, the Chosen is the Intended who selected by the Most High as their soul's match. And do not be discomfited. It is not an easy process for the Most High, nor is it an arbitrary one. An Intended will call to him. All of you will, to one degree or another, but only one of you will experience the mutual need that can be met only by both of your souls in concert. Though you needn't worry that he will make the wrong choice. It is impossible.

As for his title, the short answer is that a king answers to no one really. The High Lord governs our kind but his actions are balanced by The Council. The Council pledges fealty to the High Lord but their allegiance is bound to the people. If the High Lord makes decisions that are dangerous to our kind, The Council can intervene, but for the most part they work together. There is a representative of each of the Noble Houses on The Council and those houses are each in turn the hub of a Clan and the Lesser Houses within them."

Etienne tried to clarify as Harry shook his head in confusion, "Consider it like this, the clans are like the Houses at Hogwarts, Noble Houses and Lesser Houses are like the age groups or classmates of a particular year. The Council functions like the Faculty Heads of House and the High Lord serves like the Headmaster. Does that make things easier to understand?

Harry nodded relieved, "But at Hogwarts there are only four houses, Marjeta made it sound like there are hundred of clans."

"No there are hundreds of Houses, there are only 15 Clans and with the exception of Clan Anata, only one Noble House in each. So the members of The Council are identified by their Clan and by their House. Our Most High oversees all the clans, but unless he or she is mated, they are also a Clan Chief. Once married, the Most High's mate becomes Clan Chief so that the High Lord can concentrate on clan unity and governance, rather than affairs of state for their clan. The High Lord is Chief of the Anata Clan, considered the first clan and the one solely dedicated to the preservation of our people and the health of our society. The Most High Noble House within the Anata Clan is House Arsaelan, or The House of the Lion.

I am of the Anata Clan, House Auberon, or the House of the Bear, which is home to those with the Sight or who are in service to the ancients, the gods and the mysteries.

_Hrmph sounds as though House Auberon is like the Unspeakables department at the Ministry._

Harry nodded, "So there are 15 clans and how many Noble Houses with the As-Aras—"

"Arsaelan."

"Thank you, I think I meant Anata though. How many Noble Houses within the Anata Clan?"

"The Noble House acts as a hub remember, so as there are 15 clans, there are 15 Noble Houses. The Most High Noble House Arsaelan, House of the Lion, followed by The High Noble House Auberon, House of the Bear, and then the others. There is no hierarchy amongst the remaining 13 Houses which are House Ahearn, House of the Horse; House Corbinian, House of the Raven; House Damek, House of the Earth Keepers; House Eberlein, House of the Boar; House Eilon, House of the Tree; House Gwalchmai, House of the Hawk; House Herzl, House of the Deer; House Jubal, the House of the Ram or the Ram's horn. It is mainly the house of musicians and artisans. House Makani, House of the Wild Wind; House Romney, House of the Winding Rivers; House Tor, House of the Turtle Dove; House Tipu, House of the Tiger and House Uncas, House of the Fox.

Harry blinked, "That's a lot to remember."

Etienne chuckled, "It is, but you needn't worry about it right now. Everyone you meet will introduce themselves by name and House. If you venture into The Citadel beyond the Kynaston you will be accompanied by guards who can guide you through the social niceties if it's necessary. Within the Kynaston, nearly everyone is of a Noble House and all will know you are an Intended, any gaff and they'll know it's because you are unfamiliar with our customs. You don't have to worry about someone taking offence and trying to hex you or anything."

Harry nodded and finished off his tea, "I doubt I'll be staying for it, but just in case can you tell me about the courting part of the Amor-Amoraj?"

Etienne's enigmatic smile coupled with the twinkle returned, "Of course Harry. The Courting is rather simple. It is a time for the Intended and the High Lord to become acquainted. Just because there is a soul match doesn't mean the Chosen and the High Lord should enter their marriage without knowing anything about each other.

The Courting is a way for the Intended to interact with the High Lord both publicly and privately, so that they have some understanding of what a noble's life entails, but more important, they are given a chance to know about each other as they are behind the titles. The High Lord is more than his title Harry, he is a man and if I might say so, a good one. His Chosen should accept him for who he is not what he is. Perhaps you understand?"

Harry snorted.

_Oh I understand. I understand all too well with all that Boy-Who-Lived crap._

Harry schooled his face to neutral interest. "How do they get to know each other?

Etienne shrugged, "Oh the usual way, they spend time together, talking, enjoying walks, sharing about their lives and experiences. There are grand festivals during the Amoraj and the Most High has been known to bring an Intended to a performance or concert; it's the typical sort of thing…the standard courting rituals."

Harry's eyes grew wide and he balked thinking about how long it would take to date seven people enough to get to know them well.

_Just how long am I expected to stay here? It's going to be awhile for all this to go on._

Leaning across the end table, Etienne patted his hand, "Relax Harry. It's not as lengthy a process as it seems. Each Intended is granted one day and one night with the High Lord. It is not a great deal of time, but it is enough to set the foundations of familiarity."

Harry swallowed thickly, "Did you say one day and one _night_?"

Etienne laughed outright, "Oh Harry, you really do need to relax! Your virtue is safe. The High Lord is honour bound not to make those sorts of advances on any of the Intended. It would be disrespectful to all of them really. By accepting the Amoraj, the Intended enter a kind of engagement with the High Lord, one of them will become his spouse. Having relations with one while perhaps choosing another would be quite cruel and it amounts to infidelity which is a great crime in our culture. No, the one night is sometimes spent dancing, or at evening concerts or private talks.

The High Lord is compelled to spend from mid-morning to midnight with an Intended. It is their choice as to how that time is spent." Etienne sat back with a smile, but something occurred to him and his face once again grew serious, "I will tell you that you should expect the High Lord to touch you frequently though."

Harry blinked. "Touch me? You just said—I thought—"

"Harry," Etienne huffed, obviously loosing his patience. "There are many types of touches. Mostly he will touch you to get a sense of who you are. And you can expect to remain clothed. Gaea's grace, I don't think I've ever met such a skittish Intended! The High Lord must touch you as he cannot see you. He most likely will map you face and hands so he can build and image of you in his mind. He is the Most High, not a lecher!"

Harry blushed, "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I guess I'm just not used to people touching me, the idea is a little…off-putting. But you say your High Lord is blind?" Harry was intrigued with the idea that someone who wielded so much power had what most would consider a disability.

Etienne shook his head, "No he is not blind, he just cannot see _you_. When the call is sent the Most High gains a special ability, one that only lasts in this form through the Amoraj. Because it is the soul-match that matters most, they loose the ability to see people whose souls resonate with them. Those people are the Intended. What the High Lord sees is your aura, the projection of your soul's strength and essence," he explained.

"I've been told it's like looking at a glowing human body. They can make out an Intended's general shape, but features are lost to them, there is only the brilliance of the aura. Think of it as looking at someone standing behind a back-lit curtain. You can see the shape of their shadow, but you really cannot see them at all. That is how the High Lord will see all of you until he has announced his Chosen and the bonding begins.

Can you see now why touching is so important? He is fated to marry someone he does not know well, but also someone he has never seen. The voices of the Intended are also distorted for the High Lord, so touch is really the only way he has of getting acquainted with the Intended in a physical sense."

It was an interesting idea. Finding the person who was right for you based only on their personality and their compatibility with your soul. In theory it sounded rather nice. He wouldn't want to be the one choosing though.

_Not being able to see or hear the person you're supposed to marry? That's gotta suck. I sorta feel bad for this High Lord bloke._

"He only has to go through that during the Amoraj though right? Afterwards he'll get his regular sight back?"

"Yes, though the after-effect means that he will always be able to see the auras that surround people to some degree. It's just never as extreme as it is during the Amoraj and it is something he will be able to control, an ability to use at his discretion. Of course, because of the bonding, the Chosen will also gain this ability."

Harry nodded, it all sounded very interesting at least. Hermione would have a field day with all of this. Not that he'd ever be able to tell her about it, but his friend's boundless curiosity was a happy thought none the less. "What happens during the bonding?"

"As with all Kindred marriages, the souls merge, becoming one entity. There is an exchange of power and a telepathic link is formed between spouses. In the case of those non-Kindred, he or she is turned during the bonding and gains life energy equal to his or her spouse. There are some other things that happen, but it is not my place to reveal all. Much that occurs during bonding is individual and particular to that couple. It is very much a private affair."

"After the bonding though, the couple is considered married?"

"Yes, but as marriage is the union of two people as well as their communities and families, there is a public Blessings ceremony that takes place some time afterward, the Asta Beracha. But that is a something to discuss another day perhaps."

Harry nodded tiredly and stifled a yawn, "Another time would be good. I'm a bit worn-out. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

Etienne waved away the tray and motioned toward Harry's bedroom, "I understand. You should head off to bed and have a nap. Should you be hungry later, or should you need anything at all, there is a pull chord by your bed that will summon a house servant."

Etienne cast a hard look at him, "We have had…problems…in the past with wizards and witches who've mistreated our house servants. I warn you now that the horrendous behaviour condoned in the Wizarding world is not acceptable here. You will treat the house servants with courtesy, kindness and respect."

Harry was taken aback at his sharp tone, "I consider myself warned, though I'd like to think I treat everyone that way, servant or not."

Etienne regarded him closely for a few moments and softened, nodding, "I believe you do Harry and I thank you. I did not mean to be harsh, but Maurai Elves are treated incredibly poorly in the Wizarding world and there have been those who come among us and think they can treat the house servants like slaves or worse without impunity. That is not our way."

Harry's brow furrowed in thought, "Maurai Elves, they're what wizards call house elves aren't they?"

Etienne nodded, "Yes and they are a loyal and honourable race. We are blessed by our alliance with the Maurai and are quite grateful that so many of their kind have chosen to work for us. Service in its many forms is considered a high vocation amongst the Maurai, but over time Wizards have perverted the bond the Maurai make to their House of Employ from one of gracious service to one of slavery." Etienne sorted with derision and shook his head.

_Yup, Hermione would definitely love this._

"Because they are bound by their honour they cannot break these contracts without becoming outcasts and so they endure. I have heard such horrible things; my heart weeps at the cruelty of it." Etienne shook his head, "And yet we are the ones who are considered monsters and creatures of the dark."

Finally he stood, "I am sorry Harry I did not mean to burden you with my bitterness. When one has lived as long as I, sometimes the ways of the world make one weary. I will leave you to your rest and perhaps I shall do the same. The bells will inform you of the time should you wish to join the Houses of the Kynaston for supper, and there is appropriate dress in the wardrobe in your bedchamber. Do not feel obligated to come to supper though. If you are still sleepy then by all means rest.

The last Intended will not arrive until tomorrow morning and The Presentation will not be until the following day. You've been worn ragged and now is the time to rest and recuperate. You will feel better tomorrow than you have in some time, but to speed that process do not overtax yourself." Etienne headed for the door, "I will see myself out Harry and thank you. I have enjoyed our talk."

When he'd reached the doorframe, the Seer turned and bowed, "Be welcome Intended. May you enjoy your sojourn among us."

Harry said goodbye to Etienne certain he'd see the enigmatic Seer again soon. He headed for his bedroom with his head still spinning with all he'd learned and experienced since his arrival in Prague that morning.

_And has so much really happened since just this morning? All in one day! Wow!_

Tbc…

**A/N:** Still want more? Review!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **So nope, none of this is mine, I make no claims to any of the Harry Potter characters or situations. It all belongs to J.K. Rowling and her associates and representatives. I like to play with them though, so I am—it's called enjoyment and entertainment. That means no money's been exchanged, nor do I intend to infringe on anybody's rights. The plot of this little ditty and original characters are mine though, yup who'd a thunk it but I do have an original idea every now and again. At the moment, I'm employing them in limited quantities.

**A/N: **Alright here goes the spiel… this story is now officially, really and truly SLASH! In other words there will be a little bit of boy on boy sturff in this chapter, nothing earth shattering but a bit more descriptive than anything I've posted before…slowly but surely, I'm trying to work my way up to the M rating I've claimed for this bit of fanfic. So-uh-if slash is not your thing or you're not supposed to be reading it because of your age or country or whatever, don't bother reading further.

And for the most part, any referenced languages or non-English words (that aren't Czech) are purely products of my imagination, unless noted otherwise. The italics key—italicised words indicate emphasis, italicised sentences indicate thoughts and italicised paragraphs represent written notes/letters. In general, that's how it's gonna go for the whole fic, but you're smart people I'm sure you'll figure out what's what.

And again, this is unbeta'd so please do free to point out errors in your feedback. **sbkar**, thank you for the comma usage advice. I tend to go comma heavy so I've been leaving them out of places I think they should be, I'll be more attentive to that and hopefully the readability will increase.

Lastly, thank you thank you thank you for leaving reviews. I like them lots and I have great fun reading your comments.

**4.**

Harry flopped back on the bed figuring he finally had a moment to take stock of his feelings and surroundings. He was still overwhelmed by the luxurious suite, but more important he realised, for the first time in a long while, he felt good! Not listless, not tired, not achy. The niggling feeling of needing to be somewhere, or find that missing something was sated. For the first time in weeks he felt he could sleep restfully, and was positive he'd be hungry later. Appetite had become a foreign word in the last month, and he was looking forward to being able to enjoy food again.

Sitting up, he decided he'd have a shower before he let himself sleep. He felt grimy from his flight, and to be honest, he hadn't been motivated to have a good clean in a while. He stood and stretched, enjoying the pops and cracks as his joints shifted, then strolled to the bath. He hadn't really looked around much while Etienne showed him each room. He'd been taken aback by the lavishness, but now he noted the smaller details he'd missed before. Of course, some details he couldn't have appreciated before. Now that he was barefoot, he was definitely appreciating that the slightly rough texture of the mossy green slate tiles meant he wouldn't slip if he suffered one of his occasional bouts of clumsiness. He also appreciated that the tiles were charmed warm. It was all very peaceful, beautiful, and serene in restful greens and warm copper.

The multi-coloured green onyx marble of the tub, shower and sink basins, with its broad swaths of heavy copper, rust, cream, yellow, and golden ivory and subtle patina brought all the room's elements and accessories together perfectly. And the tub was huge yes, enough for four people, but he'd missed the taps before. Much like in the Prefect's bath at Hogwarts, the sunken marble tub was surrounded by various hammered copper taps, and he was sure each released different types of bubbles and bath oils. The copper fixtures were repeated throughout the room from sconces that cast a soothing glow, to the multiple showerheads in the shower. The tub was tucked away behind a curving privacy screen of heavy mottled glass, and on the shelves of the glass wall, at varying heights were thick, fluffy white towels and what looked to be lotions and body oils. The screen's other shelves held candles of different heights and thicknesses that smelled of the delicate fragrance he'd remembered from the courtyard.

He thought a bath would be lovely, but he _was_ tired, so he eschewed the bath for a shower. The enclosure was the same green onyx as the tub, though the door and the recessed nooks in enclosure were the same mottled bottle-green glass as the privacy screen. Harry stepped inside the enclosure and familiarised himself with the deliciously scented bath products that lined the various nooks, fiddled with the taps and showerheads, then lost himself in the bliss of hot water and steam for a good half hour.

After his shower he dried off, wrapped his towel round his waist, and went hunting for his pyjamas. He assumed his suitcase had been unpacked and that they'd be in one of the bureaus. He didn't get that far however—a pair of black silk pyjamas, shot through with very thin, leaf green pinstripes, waiting on the bed caught his eye before he'd reached the dark wood chests-of-drawers. A dressing gown of the same leaf green lay beside the pyjamas. His surprise was made complete by the tray laden with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a sealed note on the night table. He slipped into the pyjama bottoms; they felt wonderful against his skin, and slid between the fine linen sheets. He propped himself up on the fluffy pillows and sipped the hot chocolate as he read the brief note:

_Welcome to The Citadel and the Kynaston Intended,_

_Hot chocolate has always helped ease me into peaceful slumber._

_I hope you will rest well with pleasant dreams. _

_My regards, _

_D._

He pondered the note a while, deciding finally it was a thoughtful gesture and a personal one, which he appreciated. He still wasn't sure about the whole Intended business, or being courted at the same time as six other people. But for now he was willing to go along. He hadn't given much thought to what would happen if he actually responded well to the High Lord. The odds that he'd end up as some vampire lord's husband were laughable.

Granted, he didn't have much (or any) experience in matters of the heart beyond adolescent fumbling, but he was marginally hopeful that he'd someday find the kind of love his parents shared. He seriously doubted that could come about after a day and a night spent with some man he didn't know. But the idea of being romanced touched something in him, warmed and filled a place he'd shut away. The idea of being wanted for himself, not his fame or fortune or status, was a nice one, one he planned on enjoying—for a little while at least.

His were pleasant dreams indeed. No sooner than he'd drifted off, Harry found himself in a place unlike any dreamscape he'd known before. Misty warmth and shadow surrounded him as he lay on a bed of the most delicate and fragrant material. It was like the dewy brush of a thousand rose petals caressed his skin. He was not alone, nor was he afraid. Though the shadows obscured his vision, he knew the one with him would not harm him—could not harm him, in this place he was as familiar to Harry as his own name. With him Harry was safe, warm, _loved_. Tender lips brushed his softly, once, twice then melded to his own, pressing against his mouth with adoring conviction. A gently sweep of his lover's tongue begged entry which Harry gave willingly, opening himself to the burning urgency of their kiss.

His head was spinning; certainly he had never been kissed so. Passionately and lovingly, and so thoroughly he forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to feel anything but this bliss and was loathe to give it up. The feel of his lover's rich wet tongue throbbed against his own, delicately licking at his palate, his teeth, and the sides of his cheek, learning the taste of him, devouring him and leaving nothing but desire and burgeoning arousal in his wake. Soft moans of pleasure cut into the stillness, but whether they came from him or his lithe bodied lover, Harry didn't know, didn't care. One word burned through him, setting his body afire, leaving resistance and all other thought ash. _More_.

He could live like this forever, without thought, without breathing, as long as his lover fed him with his passion. Offering his mouth as Harry's banquet, a rich feast and sweet like honeycomb, tangy like lime, subtle like delicate spice, with traces of something woodsy and rich like forest loam. Yes, he could stay like this forever.

His unseen lover broke the kiss after long moments where he too savoured the taste of their mouth's union. He loosed one hand from Harry's inky hair and sensitive fingertips traced his features, skimming across his forehead, down his nose, over his cheekbones. Each brush of his fingers a butterfly kiss. The calloused pads trailed further down Harry's face and over the column of his throat. Harry knew nothing but that he could not get enough, that he desperately wanted to be touched. He didn't want the delicious burn within him to end.

And it didn't, his lover mapped out the muscles of his chest with those sinfully elegant fingers and followed their path with his petal soft lips. He nuzzled Harry's nipples, tasting, licking, nipping—playing with one then the other, laving them with his flattened tongue until Harry was beyond coherency. He arched up into his lover's mouth, moaning and begging for more. His phantom lover obliged, gently closing his teeth over a sensitive nub pinching slightly, the pleasurable pain of it making Harry dizzy with want.

Harry trembled, overwhelmed by his reaction, it was unexpected and too much and he felt he would overload on the pleasure he was experiencing. Never had he indulged such. It was wonderful and frightening. And as if his lover understood, he gentled his caresses and soothed him, stroking him to comfort and contentment as the last the echoes of Harry's panic died away. With a last kiss, chaste and full of promise, his lover drew away. "Amta ame, I would never hurt you" he whispered. And Harry woke.

He bolted upright panting.

_That was…What the hell was that? I-I've never had a…that was like nothing I've ever…Whoa, that some dream!_

He was disoriented for a while and his thoughts spun, but as he marshalled his coherence, he found several things; the most pressing was that more time had passed than he thought. He'd been obviously been exhausted and slept through the night and into the morning. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and shunting aside the lingering discomfiture caused by his luscious and bewildering dream. He'd never dreamed so vividly, yet it was amorphous too. Why didn't he see his lover? Harry couldn't remember the words he'd whispered, but what had they meant? For a moment Harry was concerned his hot chocolate had been dosed with something, but he pushed that thought away. He'd been assured no harm would come to him, hopefully, that meant they wouldn't tamper with his food or beverages. And he was certain it wasn't an induced or sent dream, after all he was an accomplished Occulemens now. Clearing his mind and erecting mental barriers was a long ingrained habit thanks to the ceaseless drilling with Snape in his 6th year. And it wasn't as though he'd never had dreams…of that nature before, he was after all a young man with healthy (though mostly unindulged) appetites. With some doing, he convinced himself that the dream was most likely an indication that he was feeling better all 'round. And finally satisfied with his logic, he completely roused himself to find he was ravenous.

He pulled the bell for a house servant. The Maurai elf that appeared was little like the house elves he'd known in the Wizarding world. She held herself with a self-assurance and very odd sort of quirky grace, which he guessed wasn't all that unusual being as he'd always noticed their kind had rather elongated limbs that lent themselves to smooth, easy movement. It's just that most of the elves he knew, well Kreacher, Dobby and Winky, moved with jerky fearful motions and stifled what—now appeared to be—natural elven poise.

She dropped a polite curtsey, pulling the ruffling edge of her sheath dress slightly. He thought the dress quite lovely; the shimmering iridescent blue fabric caught the light of the sun revealing the myriad strands of other colours in the garment. And her thin cobalt coloured overcoat bore a similar sheen so was a perfect compliment. Harry realised he'd been staring, cataloguing the differences between the elf before him and others, Winky, especially.

He blushed realising he'd been caught out, "Er—um, good morning. I was wondering if I could have some breakfast?"

To his surprise the elf favoured him with a little smile, subtle facial gestures in a house elf—Maurai elf—were beyond his ken. "It is being my honour to bid you good _afternoon _Intended," she answered kindly, politely pointing out it was later than he thought. "Elly is being my name and I'se bringing breakfast if you wish or lunch young master."

_Well it seems no matter where they are house elves—er—_Maurai_ elves, speak English woodenly and call everyone Master or Mistress. I really hate that Master thing, even if it's more a courtesy here than a necessity. _

"Please, just call me Harry."

"As you is wishing Harry." She inclined her head, obviously waiting an answer to the food question.

Harry thought a moment and despite the time he still felt breakfast was in order, "Thank you Elly. And I'd still like breakfast if it's not too much trouble."

"It is being no trouble. No trouble at all Harry. It is being my pleasure to bring your breakfast." She dropped another brief curtsey and popped out of sight.

Harry slipped on his new dressing gown, and went out to his balcony. It overlooked a small greenspace courtyard; the garden was quite private as it seemed it could only be accessed from stairs that led to the two balconies that faced it. He smiled at the thought that he'd have a bit of space outside to sit and think things over without interruption, or the kind of scrutiny he was bound to face in more public areas of the Kynaston. He settled himself in one of the two comfortable chairs arranged by a table on the balcony and thought about what he'd do to fill his time. Before he got very far however, Elly reappeared and placed a tray bearing a large breakfast, on the table at his side.

"If you is being more hungry Harry, I'se brings more food. Just rings the bell," She pointed to a small crystal bell on the tray.

Harry smiled, house—er—Maurai elves everywhere seemed to be overly concerned about his eating habits. Besides the expected tea, there were hearty helpings of scrambled eggs, bacon, black pudding, and a basket of warm rolls and sweet butter, while half-famished he doubted he'd get through it all, let alone be hungry for more.

"Thank you Elly. I'm sure this'll be fine, but I'll use the bell if I'm hungry, or need anything later," he added hastily, seeing the shift in demeanour that usually accompanied a stiff talking to from Dobby. Maybe the Maurai elves he knew weren't all _that _different after all.

His attempt to placate her seemed to be successful, as she merely nodded and didn't admonish him to make better and broader use of her services. "Elly is also bringing Harry a gift from the High Lord." Elly snapped her fingers and two books appeared in Harry's lap.

Harry smiled and nodded, "Thank you Elly."

Once again the elf dropped a curtsey and popped out of sight. Weighing his options, Harry decided he'd check over the books first then tuck in. He was pretty sure a heating charm had been placed on the food, so he didn't have to worry about his meal going cold, and he'd always been one to indulge his curiosity. He opened the cover of the first book, Cesky Raj by Josef Prosek and found a message in the same elegant script that graced the note which accompanied his hot chocolate the day before.

_Seketh ame, _

_This is a wonderful book about the Český ráj, and yes, it is Muggle, so don't expect much from the pictures. I am sure you'll enjoy learning more about this region, and the tome will make an excellent souvenir for when you return from your 'holiday'. The second is also an exceptional book and I hope there will be time for you to see some of the works described within, it too is Muggle. _

_Of course, nearly everything you've encountered so far is more than meets the eye, and these books are no exception, they each hold an additional text you may find of interest. The books are keyed to your magical signature; the secondary works will only reveal themselves when you are alone or with Kindred. To access the hidden texts just tap the dragon on the bookplate twice then close the cover. Enjoy your reading. _

_D._

Harry put the card aside, making a mental note to ask someone the meaning of 'Seketh ame,' and examined the bookplate. It was a Wizarding label and the fierce woodcut dragon illustration occasionally blew flames and moved about in his frame. 'Ex Libris' was written in Gothic style calligraphy at the top and there was space below for Harry to fill in his name with his own messy script.

Intrigued, Harry tapped the dragon twice and closed the cover as directed. The book shimmered and a moment later he was looking at Royal Peace Settlement: A History of Kynaston by Gareth Brynmor, Clan Arianrhod, House Celandine. Harry shook his head in amusement. He had a feeling he'd be spending what was left of his afternoon in the courtyard reading. He'd never gotten around to actually finishing Hogwarts: A History, but he didn't have the luxury of relying on Hermione's voracious reading habits this time around.

He put Cesky Raj by Josef Prosek/Royal Peace Settlement: A History of Kynaston by Gareth Brynmor, Clan Arianrhod, House Celandine aside to look at the second book. It was larger and thicker, and certainly held fewer pictures than the first. He repeated the revelation process and Art & History of Prague by Andrea Pistolesi became Children of the Earth Mothers: A History of the Clans, vol. 2 of 16: Clan Anata by Ninua Khosr, Clan Anata, House Damek. Yes, he'd certainly be spending a good bit of time reading today—after he ate of course.

During his meal Harry realised it was actually a really beautiful day. The sun shone brightly and the weather was warm. Sweetness carried on the wind from the flowering tree in the gardens, and all in all he felt relaxed and content. There was an underlying energy that surrounded and thrummed through him leaving him invigorated. It was, as Marjeta had said, at the very least an adventure, and one that wouldn't get him killed which, admittedly, was a nice change of pace from his previous exploits. He thought he might actually be looking forward to the rituals of the Amoraj and certainly the entertainments Etienne mentioned.

He'd planned on coming to Prague and solving the mystery of what was bothering him as he explored the city and another culture very different from his own. He wasn't sure he'd still get to see the sights of Prague, but there was no reason for him not to explore Kynaston and The Citadel in the way he'd planned. He was still in a foreign place amidst new people with the opportunity to learn about an unfamiliar culture. From what he'd seen, the vampire society was very complex, to move among them and learn about their customs would be interesting and the art and architecture of Kynaston made the idea of a walking tour exciting.

Deciding his ruminations had taken enough of his time and that the afternoon was wasting, Harry rose to take a quick shower. He was rifling for clothes in the bureau where his suitcase had been unpacked, when he remembered Etienne saying more appropriate clothing had been provided for him in the room's large wardrobe. He tossed his t-shirt and jeans back in the drawer and sauntered over to the wardrobe. Like all the doors ensuite, these were ornately carved with beautiful scrollwork. He opened them and gaped at the number of beautiful robes, there were at least two dozen—all his size, in rich fabrics and colours that complimented him.

He selected one, a fitted jacket-style robe slit from hem to hips, of bright cobalt blue with embroidered borders of pale blue and silver leaves that reminded him a little of Elly's coat. He pulled on the accompanying pale blue trousers and slipped the robe over his head. He was about to close the wardrobe when he noticed that beneath the robes were several pairs of ankle-high dragon hide boots. He chose a pair that matched his new trousers, and satisfied he'd dressed well enough not to embarrass himself, closed the door.

Once he was dressed, he returned to his book, finding the information comprehensive but accessible:

**Clan Beginnings: The First Council and High Lady Calah Akkadian**

**Among the young and newly turned there is a commonly held misperception that Clan Anata is the clan of The Council and Most High because the first Kindred were children of Anata, and so in her honour the clan was named and it is the Clan Anata that all other clans were formed. It is an accurate statement that from Clan Anata the clans and our root culture dispersed, but Kindred existed long before our Mother revealed herself as Anata. We are more than just Anata's children. As all other creatures, the Kindred have been since the beginning of Life. We have been since before breathing creatures sought to name our Mother, we and all other beings magical and non-magical alike, just knew who She was then and that we belonged to her. **

**It is no wonder that The Earth is as varied as her children, that she appears to us in myriad forms, and is honoured by myriad names. She is however always Mother and so all clans honour her by her names. Clan Anata is no different. The Babylonian goddess Anata is the goddess of earth, like with all other clans, Clan Anata is named for an incarnation of our Great Mother. **

**Before the formal organisation of clans, Kindred still aligned themselves along familial lines, lines we now recognise as House lines. Pre-Clan Kindred society however was much more nomadic and secretive. When representatives of Pre-Clan lines first gathered to form a more cohesive Kindred government and draft common laws for the kindred the first Council was formed. It was decided that The Council be a separate entity so that the Clan leaders were accountable to The Council, so the nobility of our culture came into existence as this first council consisted of members of the elite and revered wise from the nomadic clans. For detailed discussion of the organisation of Pre-Clan Kindred culture see Children of the Earth Mothers: A History of the Clans, vol. 1 of 16: Dawn of the Clans. It was further decided that there should be one who would lead and govern all, and so the position of the Most High came into being. **

**The first Most High, Calah Akkadian, was High Lady for nearly two millennia, and is the recognised founder of Clan Anata. By the High Lady's governance the nomads were gathered and Clans were formed. For her own clan the High Lady chose to honour the Great Mother by the name she had first learned for Her. It is not that the Kindred only came into existence with the development of Mesopotamia… **

"Excuse me, Harry?"

Harry started, his hand flew to his chest and the book dropped from his lap. "Merlin Etienne! You startled me!"

The Seer chuckled lightly, "So it would seem. I am sorry, but I'd been knocking for some time and I started to worry. Forgive me for intruding."

Harry shook his head to clear some of his reading fugue away, he'd been reading for hours it seemed, "No problem. I'm sorry I didn't hear you I was reading." He reached down to retrieve his nearly-finished book.

Etienne nodded, "I see. I'm glad he took my advice. I trust you're enjoying your reading?"

"Yes, it's really fascinating. And the writing isn't nearly as dry as I've seen in some history books."

Etienne smiled, "Well the High Lord is somewhat known for his…dislike of overly dry texts. That he chose these books for you doesn't surprise me. What does, I admit, is that he acted so quickly. I didn't expect him to pillage his library before tomorrow."

Harry's eyes widened, "You mean he got these just for me?"

Etienne nodded, "Of course. You didn't think he went around arbitrarily giving away the books from his personal library did you?"

"Well-er-actually yes. I mean I didn't think they were from his personal library or anything. But I thought—I don't know—I thought it was something he did for each of the Intended. A sort of standard welcoming gift…" Harry blushed and shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

Etienne pursed his lips in patent disapproval, "Do not assume that the Intended all experience the same things Harry. Yes, by rights of the Amoraj, you will be courted at the same time, but the High Lord recognises that you are individuals with unique pursuits and you will be treated and courted as such. There are a few common rituals that will be shared by all of you, but that is the greatest extent to which you'll be treated in precisely the same manner.

I reported to him once you were settled; it was then I told the High Lord you were very inquisitive and that I doubted you would be satisfied with only the information gleaned from casual conversations. His attentions toward you are motivated by his own limited understanding of your character and interests. I thought he might provide you with some texts or perhaps arrange for you to have an afternoon with Ninua. She loves to talk history as you might guess."

"Ninua…oh you mean the author. She lives here?"

"Usually. She's abroad doing research for her next book at the moment, but she'd certainly answer the High Lord's summons if he were to send for her. I can ask him to—"

"No, no don't bother, please. I don't want to disrupt anything. The book is fine for now and if I have more questions I can always just…ask you or someone right?"

"True. It wouldn't be a bother though Harry. You must try to understand how important your presence is. All of us are at your service and we will do all we can to ensure your stay is all you wish it to be."

"That's going to take some getting used to. I'm just an ordinary wizard, no matter what some people choose to believe. Just a regular bloke, so being treated like royalty or something, is kind of weird.

I think I understand. But really Harry, you are Intended and you may become The Chosen, in which case you will be royalty of a sort. We are merely treating you as your position demands. Plus," he added with a smile, "those of us who've met you, like you very much and want you to be happy here as just Harry, not only as one of the Intended."

Heaved a relieved sigh, "Thank you Etienne. It's awful being treated a particular way because of what you are, or what people think you are, instead of who you are."

A small sad smile settled on the Seer's face, "I am _Seer of the Clans_, Harry. I know a bit about how it feels to be seen as your title."

"Oh. I forgot. I'm sorry Etienne, I didn't mean to—"

Etienne waved aside the apology, "You needn't worry Harry, I am not offended. And because I can see your next question without employing my abilities, I will say this; I do not know who the next Chosen will be. I suppose I might, but Seeing is an uncertain thing. There are so many possible outcomes of any given situation. It takes great concentration, and it is quite a drain to determine a particular future. I, like everyone else, will wait to learn who the next Chosen will be."

Harry smiled, "That was my next question. What is it like though, being a Seer?"

"Harry you and your questions!" He chuckled and settled deeply into his chair, "Being a Seer is like many things Harry. I am sometimes a vehicle of Fate, and the voice of prophesy. Sometimes, I am a conduit for the spirits beyond or for the gods and goddesses and Great Mother. Sometimes, I cast myself out to discern possible futures in order to advise someone who has come for my help, or for The Council, or the Most High.

That last actually, is what I do most. I offer my advice about actions and their consequences; I share what I See about what may happen. To direct someone's actions by what I See can be dangerous. I may inadvertently change something that was meant to happen in a certain way, causing greater harm and chaos than good. It is why I rarely seek out a particular outcome."

Harry regarded him sympathetically, "That must be exhausting having the responsibility of knowing so much."

"You are very astute Harry. It _can_ be exhausting and very lonely besides, great Seers often pass through life unmated. But it is my calling, and I do it willingly and gladly. Remember my talent is both a gift and ability; I have trained to use it well and wisely. Like any magic it is not wholly subject to my control, but for the most part I choose when to employ my talents. Much of the time I am just an ordinary being." He chuckled at Harry's incredulous look, "Alright perhaps not so ordinary, as my body is that of an adolescent and I am ancient, and I am of a noble house, but you know what I mean…my life is defined by more than just my position. I am more than a vehicle of Fate and the gods. Do you understand?"

"Yes and it's good to know." Harry shook his head, "It's still really weird to see you as a kid when I know you're older than…well…than dirt."

Etienne nearly fell out of his chair he laughed so hard. Eventually, still holding his sides, he wiped away his mirthful tears, "Oh you are precious Harry. Never change." He chortled more, "I am not as old as all that, I will have you know. Dirt predates me by quite a bit. But yes, I suppose it must be odd to know I am so old. Though it's never been put to me quite like that."

He calmed himself, though the occasional giggle would escape, and looked intently at Harry. "You know I actually came by for a reason. I have to prepare you for The Presentation tomorrow. I see the High Lord didn't give you any books on the Amoraj. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not. On one hand you are the sort that likes to be well prepared and wants to know what to expect, on the other the Amoraj should really unfold for you undirected with as little expectation on your part as possible."

Etienne steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips. "What do you think Harry? Both in terms of tradition and your own acceptance of what may happen, it would be best for things to progress naturally, without expectation on your part, but would that be too disconcerting for you—not knowing exactly what was coming?"

Harry thought hard. Knowing what he was getting into and having as much information as possible beforehand was something very important to him, but he understood there was such a thing as knowing too much and that having expectations of a process might influence it or his responses in negative ways. He was certain none of the other Intended were given this option and in the end his sense of fairness won over his apprehensiveness. "I'll be fine Etienne. Thank you for offering though. Oh—I wanted to ask. What does 'Seketh ame' mean?"

Harry noticed Etienne stiffened in surprise. "Your articulation is atrocious," he quipped in an attempt to distract Harry from his shocked reaction. He knew at once it hadn't worked. He sighed, "Where did you hear that phrase?"

Harry reached over and retrieved the High Lord's card from the table and showed it to Etienne whose eyes widened in surprise. "I see. Well, actually no I don't, but that's beside the point. This is most…unexpected Harry." He shot the young wizard an inscrutable look, "You remember that except for your aura, the High Lord cannot see you?"

With Harry's nod he continued, "He can feel you and recognise you by your magical signature. That is why he could key these books to you individually. But usually the Most High makes no distinctions between the Intended. I will explain this more later, but you do not use your true names with him. The Council will provide you names to go by, which are actually more like titles, during the Amoraj. I do not know if this means the High Lord will be 'naming' you himself, or if you've been singled out for another reason. I will speak to him about it. But to answer your question, 'Seketh ame' is Lurèaldon. I told you it is rarely spoken, which is true for the most part. Endearments though, and curses oddly enough, are the exception.

Most Kindred use Lurèaldon casually when speaking endearments to their friends and family, or when cursing said friends and family," he grinned a little. "'Seketh ame' is a little-used endearment though, like most Lurèaldon there's no direct translation, the closest would be 'beautiful and bright or shining soul'. It may be that your aura is unusually bright. It is the High Lord's habit to be out and about in the Kynaston during the day; he hates being cooped up in The Council rooms or the Governing chambers if he can help it, especially on particularly lovely days. It is possible he caught sight of you yesterday."

"So he's not allowed to see us before The Presentation?"

"He's not supposed to _seek you out_ before The Presentation," he corrected. "It is inevitable, particularly given his penchant for roaming, that he'd not see any of you before The Presentation. Remember, the Intended do not come to The Citadel at the same time. The first made her way here little over a month ago. I'm sure he's caught glimpses of her here and there since her arrival."

Oddly, Harry felt a surge of jealousy at the mention of another Intended. Before, they were an amorphous mass. Intellectually, he knew there were 6 others receiving the attentions of the High Lord, but for some reason it deeply bothered him now that the vague body known as the Intended was taking on shape, details in the form of actual people. People who wanted his…

_Whoa! Rein it in. What the hell am I thinking? Mine? My...what? I haven't even met this High Lord and I'm thinking 'mine' all of a sudden? Not good. Definitely not good. I have no interest in marrying someone I don't know, don't love. And he's a he. Not that it's all that big a deal that he's a he--I just haven't given any it thought. Alright I have…but not in any concrete kind of way, not with men or women actually. Although that dream…_

"…ry? Harry! Are you listening to me?"

His head snapped round, "Oh, sorry Etienne, I was just thinking. What were you saying?"

"I'd been speaking of the Intended who have been in-residence and the young woman who arrived today. But I can recount that for you later." He cast an appraising look over Harry, "I think you are not yet fully recovered from the strain caused by the pull and could do with a nap."

The Seer nodded definitively, "It's nearly time for supper so you can rest on the settee awhile." He guided Harry up and through the suite to the sitting room, not-so-gently nudging him down onto the velvet covered chaise. "I would very much like for you to dine with my House this evening, so if you wish I will come fetch you when it is time."

Harry nodded. "That'd be nice." he yawned, then blushed, "Maybe I am a bit tired, even though I've slept so much already…."

Etienne smirked, "Mmm, the pull is an exhausting thing. It's not so unusual to need more than a day to recover…you rest. I will see you soon enough Harry." He strode toward the door then suddenly shifted and turned back, "I almost forgot. Do not introduce yourself by name this evening. You will only be known as an Intended until The Presentation tomorrow. Then you may use the moniker you are assigned. It is more than enough that Marjeta and I know you by name, we are your guides. But tonight, you'll be among the public, and it is most important that you maintain a kind of anonymity during the Amoraj."

Harry waved. "Got it. Oh hey, speaking of names—is Etienne really your name? I mean it's not Greek…"

The Seer smiled, "No, it's not Greek. It's French actually. I'm very old Harry, and having one name is…well—it's kind of boring. I think so anyway. I choose a new name every other century or so," the young looking man shrugged. "Most Kindred think of my new names as sort of nicknames, since my true name is used in official capacities. On a day to day though, I like changing it up a bit. I became Etienne about fifty years ago, and I rather like it. I may keep this one for a while longer than usual."

Harry snickered at the Seer's nonchalance, "Well that's that I guess. You're definitely different from anyone I've met before Etienne." The Seer bowed playfully and Harry yawned again, "You'll tell me more about The Presentation later right?"

Etienne chuckled as Harry rubbed his eyes. "Yes, since that was my purpose in visiting after all. Don't worry about it now. Sleep, I'll tell you as much as I am able later this evening, after the concert most likely. Now get some rest." He left through the door in a swirl of robes that vaguely reminded the drowsy Harry of his old Potions Master, except with Etienne it seemed more an example of natural grace rather than affectation.

Tbc…

**A/N 2:** Yeah, I know…this wasn't the most interesting chapter ever written, but hey there's more to come so it'll get better. You got comments? Criticisms? Review!

And btw, Cesky Raj by Josef Prosek is a real book that's received excellent reviews for its depth of information on the Český ráj, unfortunately for Anglophones, it's written in Czech (this means I haven't read it, in case you missed my note about my inability to understand Czech). There are a few books out there that feature brief sections on the region and its history, but I haven't found any solely dedicated Český ráj in English. Likewise, Art & History of Prague by Andrea Pistolesi exists and is worth checking out at your local library.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and co. all belong to J.K. Rowling and her associates and representatives. The plot's mine though, and so is Etienne, so there!

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay, I couldn't get this chapter loaded and I've been trying since the wee hours Saturday, needless to day I'm a bit grumpy about it all. Anyways, same spiel as usual: SLASH! Unbeta'd and Thanks for the reviews! I'm in review withdrawal since ffn has been acting up, so review lots please!

**5.**

A repeated knocking roused Harry from his sleep, and groggily he rolled from the chaise and padded to the door. A smiling Etienne entered as Harry threw off the last remnants of sleep, a largish owl with a bright, stark face and small black eyes perched on his extended arm. Harry thought the grey, or whitish-grey, on closer inspection, owl was lovely. He'd never seen one like it before, with such copious darker grey, nearly black, bold streaking on the back of its head and underparts, and surprisingly vibrant orangey-yellow beak.

"He's beautiful," Harry said, reaching out to brush his fingers lightly over the bird's plain grey facial discs, but pulled back as the owl fluffed out its plumage, obviously affronted.

Harry chuckled realising his mistake, "Sorry. _She's_ beautiful. What's her name, and what kind of owl is she? I've never seen one like her before." This time he was successful in his bid to stroke her soft feathers.

The owl preened as Etienne too began stroking her breast gently, "This is Ulrike. She is an ural owl. They're a rather common breed in this part of the world. Though Ulrike is somewhat unique in comparison to others, her plumage being brighter, more white and grey, than buff and brown like most other urals.

Standing at Etienne's shoulder, Harry nodded, examining the owl's features and her long, wedge-shaped tail, which like her body, had striking dark barring and hung down below Etienne's arm quite a ways . He noticed Etienne's careful petting, and saw that something hung from her neck. Looking more closely, he saw it was sickle-sized silver or pewter medallion. "Is that an…" Harry struggled with the memory, "an Auris? Like Marjeta had?"

"Astute, inquisitive, and observant—excellent qualities to have, Harry. No, this isn't an Auris, it _is _similar though. It is an Aurin. Aurins are mostly used by owls and other familiars, occasionally in emergencies by people, but that's rare. Some are keyed to The Citadel and others to the Kynaston, much like an Auris, but they work more as a gateway than a portkey. In all Kindred settlements, and the major wizarding and muggle cities there are hidden grounded Aurins. When an owl crosses The Citadel's grounded Aurin, or the one here in the Kynaston, a link is formed to the one closest to their final destination that opens a passable spatial gateway so they are able to get from one location to another very quickly without tiring themselves overly much. It takes days for even magical owls to cross great distances," he explained, "this way they are able to make deliveries in the amount of time it would take to travel in the same country."

"That's amazing!" Harry gaped, "Why don't wizards have a system like that? I know Hedwig would appreciate travelling that way. She's never been overly fond of great distances."

"I don't know why they don't," Etienne answered with a shrug. "It's not a difficult magic… Hedwig? She is your personal owl?"

Harry smiled, remembering, "Yeah, we've been together a long time. She's a good friend."

"From the fondness in your voice I can tell." Etienne winced, "Now, now, Ulrike. Harry can have more than one owl friend, there's no need to be jealous. I'm sure you and Hedwig will get along quite well," he soothed, while Harry looked on with a bit of confusion.

"You'll find Harry," Etienne said, turning his attention back to his human companion, "that ural owls are rather possessive of their owners. Ulrike will be fiercely loyal and protective of you always." The Seer waved his free hand and a sturdy owl stand appeared. He urged Ulrike to the stand gently, then removed the lightly padded dragonhide gauntlet from his arm.

Harry was thoughtful, "I take it Ulrike is another gift then?"

Etienne rotated his shoulder, and lightly massaged his arm. "Of a sort," he answered. "I'm sure there are messages you'll need delivered while you're here. And as I said, ural owls are possessive. Ulrike is now yours. I'm sure Hedwig won't mind having someone to share her duties. Even magical creatures age Harry, Hedwig will live longer and healthier if she's not solely responsible for your letters and parcels," the Seer added reasonably.

Harry nodded, he'd been thinking along those lines himself lately, and Etienne was right, he could have more than one owl friend. "Thank you Etienne," he said finally, "or should I thank the High Lord when I get a chance?" he added with a cheeky grin.

Etienne snorted as Harry crossed to the stand to pet and croon at his new owl. "You could I suppose, but providing owls for the Intended is tradition. Oh, and Harry," the young wizard looked up from his petting and the soft sounds of Ulrike's contentment, "Ulrike's Aurin is keyed to you, so while any Kindred can see it, only you will be able to remove it. And it's invisible to non-Kindred, so you don't have to worry about anyone in the wizarding world being suspicious of her."

"Wow! That's all pretty impressive," Harry scratched his hand through his hair, thinking of how having an owl with an Aurin was really advantageous and glad he could send letters to Hermione and Ron while he was in The Citadel.

"Wow, indeed." Etienne smiled, "Now let's to the dining hall. I am famished."

Harry talked to Ulrike for a minute or two more, telling her the balcony was open so she could get out for hunting. Etienne interrupted to say that for the most part ural owls hunted during the day. Harry nodded and continued petting his new friend's remarkable plumage. "Okay Ulrike, we'll talk more later. Thanks for wanting to look after me." The owl hooted softly, nipped at Harry's finger, then settled onto her perch.

Etienne took Harry's arm and once again led him through a maze of corridors, this time exiting onto a wide busy walkway lit by numerous torches. Harry swung his head back and forth trying to take in all the new sights as Etienne prattled on. They walked some distance, about fifteen minutes, and just as they were mounting the steps to an enormous hall, bells rang out in a distinctive pattern.

"It's the dinner chorus," Etienne said to Harry's unasked question, "Of course, many eat in their own homes or rooms, but The Citadel is a large city, there are always guests from other Clans, or the occasional non-Kindred visitors and community is very important to us, so for the most part, we gather as Houses for the evening meal. The bells signal the doors' opening and welcome all to gather together."

"Are all meals served in the Dining Hall?" Harry wondered as Etienne ushered him through the now open doors.

"Yes," the Seer nodded, "but few partake of breakfast or the midday meal here, preferring to eat at times that suit their schedules."

Harry stopped suddenly, pulling Etienne off-balance. The Seer stumbled and Harry mumbled his apologies, then asked quietly about the thought that'd brought him up short, "Uh-Etienne…umm…wha-what do Kindred actually eat?" Harry blushed, "I mean, I-I've been served um…normal food, but you-um-Kindred…well don't you—" Harry stammered terribly, and thoroughly embarrassed, refused to meet his guide's gaze.

Etienne chuckled and shook his head, "We eat 'normal' food too. Blood is for…well never mind, I'll explain that later. How we consume blood, and the reasons for it, aren't exactly appropriate dinner conversation. You will come to no harm among us," he reassured.

Harry nodded meekly, still embarrassed, and Etienne patted his hand gently. "You can't know if you don't ask, Ha—Intended," Etienne caught himself and smiled at his near error, "there's nothing to be ashamed of, just relax, and enjoy yourself."

By now Etienne had steered him into the main hall and Harry was mesmerised. It was like entering Great Hall at Hogwarts as a first-year, all over again. He was at once awed and intimidated by the number of people gathered at the great long tables, and was reminded of the analogy Etienne had drawn to the Hogwarts House system, as he noted the regal-looking banners in myriad colours. He felt a twinge of longing nostalgia as he looked up and found, that like the Great Hall, The Citadel's Dining Hall featured an enchanted ceiling that showed the true sky.

Noting Harry's attention was drawn upwards, Etienne smiled, "we are Children of Earth Intended, and there is no better decoration than her splendour, or that of her sister sky. The ceiling reminds us of who we are, as much as it is to bring pleasure to our eyes."

"It reminds me of Hogwarts," Harry replied simply.

"In a good way I hope?" Etienne guided Harry to a seat at a table beneath a long silver banner with a prominent blue crest.

Harry nodded. "It was my first real home," he said quietly.

Something flashed in Etienne's deep brown eyes, but was gone before Harry could fully register, or identify, the fleeting emotion. "Perhaps, you will find a home here as well," was the Seer's response.

The meal was delicious, and conversation flowed easily between those closest to him at the table. Etienne had made brief introductions and while he was sure he'd recall the names of those he'd met should they cross paths again, Harry was content to store away the details and his observations for later. It had been a while since he'd been able to just enjoy the company of others without the burden of expectation, and he liked it.

Midway through the meal, Harry felt someone approach and turned to face his first guide. "Hullo Marjeta," he said, greeting the emissary cheerfully.

Marjeta bowed slightly, "Good evening Intended. I had hoped I would see you at a meal sometime today. How are you? And has Etienne treated you well?" She grinned at the Seer who was now turned in his seat, happy to take part in this new conversation.

"He's been wonderful. Answering all my questions, unlike some I've met," Harry tossed out with a friendly grin, "And I'm well, thanks for asking. You were right. I did feel much better once we'd arrived here. And I got some sleep too, which helped a lot."

Marjeta laid a hand on his shoulder, "That is good Intended. I'm glad you're feeling better. And as for Etienne answering your questions…don't be so sure. He seems an open book, but not all of the pages are in a language known to most," she winked at the Seer, then gave her full attention to Harry, "but I did not come to poke fun at the Seer of the Clans. I wanted to invite you to this evening's concert in the House Jubal Crystal Amphitheatre. I think you'd enjoy it. Will you come?"

Harry looked to Etienne whose eyes were twinkling merrily, "I'd planned on bringing you with me if you were interested Intended."

Harry smiled.

_Looks like I'm going to do the tourist thing from the gate._

"I'd like that," he looked to his guide, "Should we meet you there?"

Marjeta nodded, "Yes, that would be best. Eloene and I somehow managed to garner Casimir of House Romney's attention, and are blessed with his company tonight," she smirked. "I'd spare you altogether if I could, but as it stands, I'll consider it an achievement to merely limit your exposure this evening," she sighed and exchanged a glance with Etienne who rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Then we will definitely meet you there. The less time we must keep in company with that pompous, ridiculous, arrogant, smarmy…" Etienne huffed, and Marjeta chuckled as she cut off his tirade.

"Etienne can tell you about Casimir, Intended," Marjeta chuckled, "be prepared though, their lack of…appreciation for one another is long-standing. You may receive more than an earful on your way to the amphitheatre."

Harry shrugged, "You learn a great deal about people from knowing who they don't tolerate well, just as you do from knowing who their friends and enemies are."

Marjeta perked her eyebrow, "Very true Intended." She bowed slightly again, "I will leave you both to finish your meal then and see you at House Jubal in an hour."

Etienne nodded, and Harry could tell that there was more than professional courtesy between them. He and Marjeta were truly friends and had been for a long time. "In Eloene's row?"

"Of course," the raven-haired beauty smiled, and glided away.

Harry and Etienne finished their meals and left the hall. As they walked down the wide cobbled streets further into The Citadel, Harry asked about the banner that hung above their table. "It's the herald of your House right? What do the stars and that symbol in the top half represent?" he asked.

Etienne smiled indulgently, "What do you know of heraldry Intended?"

Harry shook his head ruefully, "Not much I'm afraid. I really had no interest in it all except for the House crests at Hogwarts. I learned some things about it, but mostly it had to do with my own House, Gryffindor."

The Seer nodded, thinking, "Well…the azure background represents many things. It is the colour associated with truth, loyalty, piety, sincerity, knowledge, and integrity. The bottom half of the crest is divided in two, on the right are five stars to stand for the elements and the plane beyond. These six-pointed stars with their wavy rays, are called estoile, and signify both nobility and celestial blessings. Always, have the heavens been the realm of those devoted to the mysteries, Intended. To the left of the silver dividing line is the sable bear rampant. You know mine is the House of the Bear, he stands for strength, cunning, and ferocity in the protection of one's kin. Many are the enemy who've fallen because they dismissed the strength of Auberon, thinking those who serve the mysteries, the gods and goddess-called, and seers too weak and preoccupied to be a threat or serve as defence for our people." Etienne growled slightly, sounding much like his House's namesake.

Harry nodded, easily fitting what he knew of Etienne within the traits of his House, "What about the top half. What is that symbol? I don't think I've seen it before."

"Probably not, as it is a compound runic symbol based on ancient runes only used by Kindred. Though I'm sure you'll recognise some of the basic forms, wizards use very different runes in their warding magic and spellcasting, but they're not wholly..." Etienne paused in his lecture, noticing that Harry was chewing on his bottom lip, a sure sign the young wizard was nervous or embarrassed. "Intended? What is it?" He asked gently.

Harry toed the ground where they'd stopped, "I-um-well I didn't take Ancient Runes in school and they weren't really part of my Auror or Healer training, so I'm not familiar with any besides a few of the really commonly used ones."

Etienne blinked, "You didn't take Ancient Runes…" The Seer shook his head, "What are magical beings taught these days…that's…ridiculous! How are you supposed to..." the guide huffed out a breath, "Never mind. While you are here I will teach you some if you'd like. And when you return home, you'll go with materials that will help further your understanding." He waved off his annoyance and explained, "Runes are very important Ha-Intended, and powerful. Not teaching you to use them is a great oversight on the part of your educators. And dangerous, as most warding magics incorporate some aspect of rune-casting."

Etienne didn't smile at his near-slip this time. Harry could feel the anger rolling off him, and though he knew it wasn't directed at him, he was still taken aback as magical power crackled in the air around them. "Etienne," he said worriedly, trying to get the Seer's attention. He didn't know if Kindred were like wizards, sometimes wreaking havoc by unleashing uncontrolled magic in times of great stress or high emotion. "Etienne, you haveta calm down," Harry whispered urgently as the Seer's eye's began to glow golden. He was about to reach out to the vampire when Etienne shot up his hand warding him off.

"I'm alright." The Seer took and released a deep breath, and as quickly as it had come, the surge of energy and the glow in his eyes faded, "I apologise Intended. I didn't mean to startle you." He looked at Harry sadly, "Too much has been lost to time…I sometimes fear for the future of all magical beings," he added softly.

He reached out for Harry's arm, shaking his head, "Forgive me?" With Harry's nod he continued, "It seems I've wandered away from your question Intended."

As they continued walking Etienne explained that each House claimed a runic symbol as their primary identifier, they were a combination of the Clan rune and another rune or runes that spoke to the traits of their House. House Auberon's symbol was Fryn, a combination of runes including the runic symbol of Clan Anata and others that signified vision, revelation, knowledge, and openness to spiritual energy, and power.

"It is a mark of identification, as well as protection Intended. _Remember that names, and the symbols of names are powerful_," he said as they entered a large courtyard filled with chatter and music.

Etienne smiled as Harry look around. "Welcome to House Jubal Intended," he said formally, sweeping out his arm to indicate the whole of the compound.

Numerous torches lit the area as people in all sorts of colourful robes hovered 'round, the occasional note was sung out into the early night, strains of music could be heard from various places. Everywhere there was talking and gaiety, Harry grinned.

_Etienne said House Jubal was mostly musicians and artisans, you can really tell. It's so…open feeling here, and friendly. I like it. _

"So where is the amphitheatre?" Harry asked.

The Seer shook his head, "Oh no," he said quietly, steering Harry toward a somewhat darkened corner. "Before I take you to the amphitheatre I need to warn you about Casimir."

"Right, Marjeta mentioned him. You two don't get on."

Etienne snorted, "Well there's an understatement if I've ever heard one. He is a power-hungry, ambitious ass. He's pompous, self-important, and can't stand not being the centre of attention, or on the arm of those who are the focus of any gathering. This is probably why he's saddled Marjeta and Eloene with his presence tonight, as they will be the most note-worthy in attendance this evening. He fawns over those with popularity or power to further his own agendas…" Etienne fixed Harry with a look, "Do not be fooled by him. He is charming, attentive, charismatic, and very smart. He can guide you through what you might think is a conversation on the latest fashions and by the end of it you've bargained away your first born child. Do not be taken in by his gilded tongue, and _do not _look him in the eyes." Etienne clasped Harry's arms firmly, "That is most important Harry. You must never look Casimir in the eye. He hides his ability well, but he's a Mesmera and has mastered mesmerism and hypnosis. He's very dangerous and you must promise to be on your guard and very careful around him. Marjeta, Eloene, and I will be with you, but he has an uncanny gift of isolating his prey, even when they are in good company."

"Etienne, I'm an Occulemens…" Harry said carrying on their conversation in same near whisper the Seer used.

Etienne shook his head, "Occulemency doesn't work well against Kindred mesmerism. Even untrained, Kindred can use mesmerism as effectively as the Imperius curse, and it's far more subtle, nearly undetectable to any but a trained Mesmera. Just be careful Harry." The Seer shuddered slightly, "I don't mean to worry you, but I don't want you meeting Casimir unprepared." He added a warning glare, "And never attempt to use Legilimency on Kindred. If you are an Occulemens, you must be skilled in that arena as well. We can tell when someone is trying to invade our minds that way. For wizards it is a near imperceptible brush against their consciousness, for us it might as well be a raging hippogriff trampling through our minds."

Unnerved Harry nodded shakily, "Alright. Don't look him in the eyes, and be careful. Got it."

Etienne sighed and loosed his firm grip, "I don't say this to scare you needlessly, but it is my duty to ensure your well-being, and I think it best you don't proceed in ignorance."

Harry smirked, "I understand Etienne and thank you. I wish some others would've taken that tact. I'd rather be cautious and prepared, than walk into a trap because you were trying to protect me from something unpleasant by keeping silent."

The Seer nodded, "Just do not allow this to ruin your evening. Eloene will flay me if she learns you didn't enjoy the concert because I'd set you to worrying."

"I'm a natural worrier, but I'll try and keep a lid on it. I wouldn't want to lose my guide, after all." Harry ran his hand through his hair with a grin. "Now who is Eloene? You and Marjeta mentioned her several times tonight, but I still have no idea who she is."

Etienne's ready smile returned, "Well then, as I have obviously been remiss, I shall now introduce you." With a rakish grin, he took Harry's arm and led him from the shadows through the busy courtyard and through a wide stone archway.

When they entered the amphitheatre Harry knew at once, why it was called the Crystal Amphitheatre. Rows and rows of seats were carved into the earth and each sparkled like a star-filled sky. The minuscule crystals embedded in every surface reflected the light of the nearly full moon causing the whole of the amphitheatre to glitter in the night. Many people were already seated on the benches, but it was obvious that much of the audience had yet to arrive. Etienne led Harry down to the first terrace and the innermost set of benches where a petite blonde woman sat alone.

"Greetings Eloene," The Seer called out cheerfully.

The young woman turned then stood, quickly making her way to them. "Good evening Etienne, Intended." She said nodding to each. "Be welcome to House Jubal and tonight's performance."

Harry was amazed. Eloene was very pretty, though not strikingly beautiful. She was fair, with hair like sun-kissed wheat, and warm brown eyes, but her voice…that was the characteristic that lent her bold beauty. Clear and melodic, even speaking she sounded like she was singing. It was…powerful, Harry decided.

Etienne smiled, "Thank you. So you've foisted Casimir off on Marjeta have you?"

Eloene laughed, the sound reminding Harry of tinkling bells. "That I have. Besides I wanted you all to myself for a bit." She turned to Harry and bowed slightly, "Eloene Vlcek, Clan Anata, House Jubal. I am so very pleased to make your acquaintance Intended. Tell me, are you enjoying your stay thus far?"

"I am; even if I can't seem to get a full answer out of anyone," he mock glared at his guide, who grinned innocently in return.

Eloene took his arm and guided him to the seat beside hers on the bench, "You mustn't worry too much Intended. Seers, you know, are infamous for their vague and misleading answers, and Etienne is one of the worst," she laughed. "I must say he's gotten much better though. I thought I'd go mad with all of his half-answers during the Amoraj."

"You were an Intended?" Harry asked, eyes wide with shock.

Eloene nodded, "Yes, and I know how confusing it can all be. If you ever have questions, or need a friendly ear, feel free to send for me. It can all be a bit overwhelming can't it?"

"Yes," Harry said quietly. "Kind of confusing sometimes."

Eloene laid a sympathetic hand on his arm, "It's alright Intended, you'll see. Everything will work out the way it's meant to in the end. And though I can't answer all of your questions, I'll do my best. In the meanwhile, just try to relax and enjoy yourself."

Harry nodded, "So you're Honoured now? Were you a witch?"

Eloene smiled, "Yes I am Honoured, but I was Kindred-born. I know that makes things different between us, as I knew about the pull and when it happened to me I didn't have to figure out what to do on my own. I am different too, because I did not participate in the courting. I knew right away that Romare was not meant to be my mate."

She smiled fondly, "He was a very good man, and as time passed I came to love him very much, but only as a friend. I stayed for the Amoraj and The Choosing; it was a very interesting time for me. Later, I apprenticed with Belle Orifé, she is the head of House Jubal. Sometime after she'd taken me under her wing, I became a member of this House. Something kept me here in The Citadel. I knew that though the High Lord was not for me, that I would find my soulmate here. And eventually, I did. It was not the High Lord, but one of his blood, his cousin, who captured my heart and makes my soul complete."

"I love you too, Elo," Marjeta interrupted, dropping a gentle kiss on her head. "Good Evening," she greeted.

A rather non-descript man in flamboyantly cut, and garishly bright robes grinned at her side "Yes, Good evening all!" He said loudly, and bowed with a flourish. "I am Casimir Stanislaw of House Romney. I don't think I've had the _pleasure_ of seeing you here before," he smiled widely at Harry, slowly raking his gaze over the wizard's body. Harry shivered at the unwelcome attention, feeling very much like side of beef. "And you are?" Casimir asked silkily, trying and failing to catch Harry's eyes.

"Intended," Harry answered pleasantly, with all of Etienne's admonitions firmly in mind. "It's an honour to meet you Casimir." He could feel Casimir wanted him to make eye contact, probing magic tickled his mind and cajoled, attempting to compel Harry's gaze. He shook off the unwanted feeling, pushing against the foreign magic until all traces were gone.

Etienne noted Casimir's surprise during the exchange, and made a note to ask Harry about it after the concert. Something had passed between them, something that had left Harry shaken, though not visibly. He was impressed with the young wizard's control, but had no interest in subjecting him to further scrutiny…or machinations. "Casimir, Marjeta, you should take your seats, they'll be starting soon," he said brightly. "Casimir, lovely to see you this evening, and it's been far too long. Perhaps we'll have a chance to talk later."

Casmir's smile lost some of its brilliance as he nodded an acknowledgement of Etienne's greeting. "Of course, of course, we wouldn't want to miss anything. And it appears most have been seated. And yes perhaps later Etienne."

As Casimir turned to seat himself beside Marjeta who'd already taken her seat Eloene elbowed the Seer, "You shouldn't taunt him Etienne," her voice, the barest of whispers.

"He's not the only one who can play the social niceties. I will find out what that supercilious slime is scheming. He will not involve this, or any Intended, in his plots. I won't allow it," The young looking man replied with little more than his breath.

The two exchanged poignant looks then turned their attentions to their companions as torches in the amphitheatre flickered, signalling the start of the performance.

Harry had never been to a choral concert before, and he found it was a wonderful experience he'd like to repeat. The first part was a close three-part harmony that evoked a kind of magic that spun connection and a sense of place between themselves and the audience. Through their music Harry suddenly felt as though he understood what it was to be part of everyone and everything. He felt how much he fit, and was needed, just as he was, because he was a part of creation, because lived and breathed, not because of _who _he was, or the roles he'd played. When the last notes faded away he brushed at the odd feeling on his cheeks and realised that in the last half-hour, he'd been moved to tears.

To end the evening, the vocalists engendered an explosion of polyphonic colour, balancing stunning vocal clarity with resonant pitch in a rousing piece that seemed an endless invocation of articulated colour and shaped resonance; the balance and blend of the voices was exquisite, they were one, yet divergent. Sometimes merging seamlessly together as though they made up a single instrument, sometimes purposefully discordant and individual, and though it all, despite the obvious complexities of the music, not a single word was slurred or lost. It was, Harry thought, as though they'd magicked a kaleidoscope into sound, and absolutely brilliant.

Harry was glad they were able to mill around a bit afterwards as it gave him a chance to approach Eloene about the concert. "That was astounding Eloene, I've never heard music like that before. It was really beautiful."

She bowed slightly, "Thank you Intended. I am quite proud of them, and I will be sorry to see them go," she said a bit wistfully.

"They don't live here then?"

"They are my master class. As I apprenticed to Belle, so they have apprenticed to me. I think though, that this evening has shown they are quite ready to return to their Clans." She smiled mischievously, "I admit, I purposefully wrote very complex songs for this evening, perhaps I was hoping there'd be an error so I'd have an excuse to keep them with me longer, but I cannot find fault with how they sang tonight."

"No, it was perfect. They should all get full marks, or whatever it is you use to grade them."

"Oh, it's not like that, Intended," she laughed lightly, "there are no 'marks' per se. Training is complete when both student and teacher feel they have learned all they can from one another. It's nothing quite so formal as institutional schooling." Her smile faded a bit as she continued, "I'm just sorry you weren't able to fully appreciate it all. There will be other concerts during the Amoraj. I'll make sure to include some pieces in English. You deserve to enjoy all aspects of the music."

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion, "They weren't in English? But I understood what they were singing. How can that be?"

Etienne paled, "You understood what they were saying? It wasn't just that the melodies touched you?"

Harry shook his head, "No, I understood. I can't really recall…"

"Gaea's grace," Etienne swore softly. Swiftly, but gracefully, he took Harry's arm and bowed to Eloene. "Good night Eloene, thank you and your students for a wonderful evening.

Harry schooled himself to reflect a calm he didn't feel as they left the amphitheatre and House Jubal. The walk to the Kynaston was quiet, each lost in his own thoughts.

_What language were they singing? If it wasn't English what does it mean that I understood? And why did Etienne react like that? Is it bad? I don't think it is. It was so beautiful and so…well it all made so much sense and being a part of everything. That felt wonderful. Maybe it was a kind of spell… At least I didn't have to talk to that Casimir again, yech! He kinda reminded me of Lockheart and see how well that went. Plus he was looking me over in that weird way. It felt…dirty…and what's with that trying to make me look him in the eye thing? I'm glad Etienne clued me in before we got there. _

Harry was so busy replaying the evening in his mind he didn't realise they'd made it back to his rooms until he heard Ulrike hooting in greeting.

"Oh. Hullo to you too Ulrike," he smiled at the owl, and brushed his fingers over her round head in greeting. "I didn't realise we were back already Etienne."

Etienne leaned against the wall looking Harry over appraisingly, "I know. You were somewhat preoccupied it seems."

"True," Harry nodded, "We left so suddenly. I mean I suppose it didn't look that way, but it sort of felt we-we were in a rush. Is-is it a bad thing that I understood the music?"

Etienne uncrossed his arms and waved at the sitting area. "This is rather complicated Harry. Why don't we sit down?"

They seated themselves and Etienne began drumming his fingers against the armrest. "It's not bad," he said reassuringly. "It's just highly unusual. Tonight's pieces were in Lurèal, which is a derivative of Lurèaldon. You shouldn't have been able to understand it, yet you did. I'm not sure what that means. There's no doubt that you're a powerful wizard and it's not wholly unheard of for a strong wizard's magic to call to themselves knowledge they need or want in a particular moment. And it can happen unconsciously, that may be what happened tonight, I'm sorry we rushed to leave because of it. But this is certainly not something you want many to know about and there were too many about that could be listening. Eloene and Marjeta are safe, but there are others…"

"Like Casimir," Harry said knowingly. "Do you know why I could feel him trying to make me look at him?"

Etienne blinked, "You could feel him trying to compel you?"

Harry nodded, "I threw it off and pushed him out. Well, not _out_ exactly, more like _off_…I pushed him off of my mind, but it was creepy."

Etienne fell back into the chair, "Gaea's grace, so _that's _what happened." He looked at Harry with something akin to awe, "Non-Kindred shouldn't be able to feel that. You certainly shouldn't have been able to resist. No wonder he looked surprised."

Harry rolled his eyes, "Great, another thing I'm not supposed to be able to do that I can do and have no idea how to control."

Etienne shook his head, "No, you can control it. It's just that you're much more powerful than I'd thought." He looked at Harry intently, "that's not a bad thing Harry. And really, I should've expected it. You wouldn't have been able to defeat Voldemort if you weren't powerful." The Seer frowned slightly, thinking that no matter what happened now, Intended, Chosen or Honoured, Harry would be a target to some, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to commandeer some of your time each day. I need to teach you control. It may come in handy should you have to deal with Casimir, or any like him, in the future."

At Harry's baleful look, the Seer smiled slightly, hoping to both reassure and lighten the mood between them. "I've taught scores over the years Harry. It won't be overly tedious. This is your _holiday _after all."

_Note he didn't say we'll make it _fun_, he said it won't be overly _tedious_…lovely._

Harry snorted, "Alright, as long as you're in a mood for teaching, why don't you tell me what I'll need for tomorrow?"

"Ah, now who's changing the subject," Etienne smiled. "Very well then, I will tell you about The Presentation."

Etienne told him what he should do to prepare, and what he should wear in the morning. Then he explained a few of the hows and whys of The Presentation, saying finally that it was actually a rather short ceremony, held before just The Council. The Intended would be led to The Council chambers, and the members of The Council would introduce themselves. A priestess from House Auberon would bestow the names by which they'd be known throughout the Amoraj. The High Lord would be led in then would greet each one. He would hold out his hands and the Intended would place their hands atop his and say whether they accepted his bid to court them.

Harry shot Etienne an incredulous look, "That's it?"

The Seer shrugged, "That is all."

Harry sighed, "I have to say it's quite a let down Etienne. You've made it sound like this very big deal, but really it's more of a meet and greet kinda thing."

"Yes, well," The Seer stood and brushed at his robes, "It is a ceremony, brief though it may be, and an important one. Now, do you remember what it is you have to say?"

"Yes," he rolled his eyes, "it's pretty simple after all. Since I'm consenting to the courting I just say, 'Deketh han, whatever name they give me, amir sen lasagh mien vie sede,' right?"

Etienne grimaced, "You may have had some understanding of Lurèaldon this evening, but it certainly did not help your ability to speak it. Your articulation is atrocious. Say it again Harry, this time, soften your vowels...and _do try _to remember that it's a very _beautiful _and _rhythmic _language." The Seer pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

Harry sighed and said the phrase of consent again…and again…and again…finally, Etienne was marginally satisfied, and showed himself out, still grumbling about Harry's somewhat coarse pronunciation.

Harry planned on writing to Ron and Hermione before bed, but he found that despite his nap, he was tired, and it had been an eventful day. He instead cosseted Ulrike for a while, thinking over the day's revelations, his observations and encounters. When he realised it was getting late, he washed up and put himself to bed.

Harry wasn't the only one mulling over the evening's events. As he made his way through secret passageways, Casimir's thoughts returned to the attractive and puzzling Intended. There was something different about him, beyond what he'd written in his report. He was relatively certain of his assumptions, but then why was that information being kept from The Council? He didn't like being without definitive answers, or not having all the facts readily available. He thought perhaps it was a test set by Prakash and Barnabus, but for what purpose? Surely they didn't question his loyalty?

When he'd finally reached the cellars of House Tipu he used a summoning stone to call to Prakash. He would convey his findings and then Prakash had some questions to answer. How dare they send him to spy on someone who was obviously Kindred while letting him believe the man was merely a wizard! But then…another thought whispered through his mind…if the Intended were really a wizard, it would mean he held incredible innate power, and the question would be how to turn that to his advantage. Casimir fingered the thick parchment of his report carefully. He would proceed cautiously. There might be more to gain than he'd initially considered. Much more, he thought, running his tongue thoughtfully along his elongated canines. What would that much power taste like? He wondered, and he waited.

Tbc…

**A/N 2:** Up next…The Presentation and a BIG surprise (for Harry anyway-hee hee!) You got comments? Criticisms? Review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and co. all belong to J.K. Rowling and her associates and representatives. No infringement intended. The plot, original characters, and associated situations and abilities are all products of my imagination.

**A/N: **Same spiel as always: SLASH! Unbeta'd (just for now though…I sent this chapter to my beta late, so I'll have to revise later) and Thanks for the reviews! Really, really, thanks for the reviews. They're often a kick in the pants when I feel like I'm not getting anywhere with this story and should drop it. Not that I'm going to drop it! I will finish, reviews just help me write faster!

**6.**

He stood perfectly still as the voices of night birds chattered through the air, wrapping their conversations around him. The wind sighed through the trees carrying the scents and sounds of the forest, and all around him the night pulsed with life. He closed his eyes to listen intently, filtering away the night music that was as distracting as it was beautiful -there! For another being the sound would barely register, but he heard it clearly, the pounding of running footfalls, determined and steady. The chase was on!

He whirled, scenting the source, the hunting phantom, and made his way into the trees. He chuckled silently as he caught the faint growl of frustration. No, there would be no easy prey this night. He slipped into the shadows and cursed as a twig caught on his tunic, the **snap** it made as it broke seemed to echo through the forest and in that instant he knew he was caught. He turned to fight, fangs descended, claws elongated, he held his ground in challenge. Take me if you dare, his body screamed. And caught off-guard in a flash of limbs and teeth he found himself tackled off his feet. The impact of their landing drove a whoosh of breath from his lungs and then they were rolling-nipping and biting at each other, ripping at each other's tunics in a bid to get to skin, not noticing the cuts and scratches left by teeth, and claws, and the detritus of the forest floor, neither willing to cede dominance, until finally his shadowed one crouched over him, a low, menacing growl issued from deep within his unseen lover's throat. "Amta," the word rumbled from the shadowed chest, "Amta kalei."

Resting his weight on an elbow, he raised a hand, lifting it to his lover with a predatory smile. "Idres taleth. Idres kalei," came the husky whisper. His breath was again stolen as a wicked mouth, powerful, wet and hot, latched hungrily onto his own. He shuddered as he was kissed savagely. Hard kisses burned his skin as his lover's mouth moved away, and instinctively he bared his throat, "always yours," he panted harshly, fierce even in his acquiesce.

"COUSIN! What are you doing still abed! You must be in The Council chambers for The Presentation in less than an hour!"

Grey eyes snapped open, flashing silver, at once wary and alert, the glowing heat within them forced the intruder back a step. "If you weren't my Castellan, and I didn't love you dearly Marjeta…" the Kindred High Lord growled, leaving the threat hanging. Rising, he threw off his coverlet with a frustrated snarl.

"You didn't sleep well," his steward said sadly.

The Most High of the Clans, High Lord Draconis, unabashedly adjusted himself, then swiped his hand over his face, closing his eyes. He could still feel the heated kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, his neck...he pushed away the feelings engendered by his dream and took several deep calming breaths. "I slept fine," he said finally, when he'd regained control. He opened his eyes and met his friend's concerned gaze. "I dreamt of him again."

Marjeta frowned, "That's twice in as many days. What do you think it means Draco?"

The High Lord shrugged, "I'm…not sure. I meant to ask Etienne, but he's been busy as guide to one of the Intended. I'll seek him out tonight." Draco sighed, "Now since you were _gracious_ enough to wake me and I suppose I should get up."

Marjeta smiled faintly at the familiar smirk, "I am sorry for pulling you from your dream Cousin, but you do need to eat, and ready yourself. What would Uncle Romare say--late to your own Presentation," she tsked saucily.

Draco snorted, pulling on his dressing gown. "If my Sire were around to say anything I wouldn't be in this predicament now would I," he groused playfully. As he crossed his bedroom to the bath, he hugged Marjeta lightly, "I wish he _were_ here. I miss him you know."

Marjeta returned the hug, stroking his hair lightly, he was such an important part of her life, not just her lord, but her family, the younger brother she'd always wanted, "I know little one. But he would've been so proud of you. Especially today," She pulled back and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "Now go bathe. Shall I send for breakfast?"

"No, don't bother, I doubt there's time. I really should've been up hours ago. I need to go through those trade agreements, and the petitions that arrived earlier this week. Today is my last full free day."

His steward frowned, "Those can all wait, you needed to sleep. You've been pushing yourself for days trying to get even more work than usual done. And with the Amoraj…"

An elegant hand waved from the bathroom, "Yes, yes, I know. Now make yourself useful Cousin and find me something to wear." The teasing lightness of his voice signalling that he'd achieved the calm denied him on waking, and that all was forgiven.

Marjeta chuckled as she strode to the wardrobe. They both knew perfectly well, there was no choice in the robes worn on the day of The Presentation. As she pulled the cabinet doors open she heard the shower start and waited. Many mornings she'd come in to find him in the shower, and he'd never deviated from the routine, no matter what was pressing on his mind at the time, he would sing. Today was no different, and she smiled as the Kindred High Lord began to sing his silly muggle song about the sun, good mornings, breakfast, and toast; then cringed slightly as he was rather loud and somewhat off-key. It promised to be a long day for all of them; she shook her head laughing lightly, and hoped that bit of good humour would last throughout.

Once bathed, bullied into a brief meal, and dressed his ceremonial garb, Draco strode purposefully and regally down the corridors of The Kynaston with Marjeta, who carried a stack of parchments in an ornate portfolio, at his side. As they walked they discussed the latest petition of Su Li, Clan Izanami, House Lo-Shen. The noble wanted to found another House within Izanami, and had petitioned relentlessly over the last fifty years. Her arguments had changed in the last fifteen years or so, becoming more and more reasonable, and gaining support from both within the Clan and beyond. Draco recognized the benefits of her proposal, and was inclined to grant the petition this time. But establishing a new House was not a simple business, the implications were broad reaching, and especially since the proposed House Inari hoped to distinguish itself as a warrior and artisan house, focusing on training in the ancient martial arts, and a kind of sword-making that was rarely engaged even among the long-lived Kindred, there was much to be balanced and considered before any sort of announcement could be made about his decision. As they entered The Council's anteroom, he passed the parchments back to Marjeta, who pressed a kiss of benediction on his cheek, and left to attend to her other duties. With a sigh, he sank into a waiting chair and resigned himself to spending the last of his "free day" with Su Li and the House Inari proponents who'd arrived with the contingent from Clan Izanami.

For now though, he brushed aside his musings on duty and politics to think again on his dream. One thing was certain, his Chosen was male, he discerned that much from his dreams, and thinking on it he realized he hadn't a preference. Even before…the change, he'd considered himself bisexual, thinking it was the person, not their packaging, that mattered most. Of course, he'd come to learn that his views on sexuality, even then, were a reflection of his Kindred nature. Now, of course, such labels didn't matter, there were no words for differentiating sexualities among Kindred, love was love, no matter its form, and all strove toward their match. And as for his dream, he knew-well, he suspected with no little certainty, the dream's meaning. After all, he'd indulged a few assignations before...the change, and discovered, with those few male lovers, that he'd enjoyed both the position of the receiving partner as well as the more dominant.

But things were different now, and he thought the dream was the manifestation of that difference, or one of them at least. He could no longer arbitrarily choose his bed partners now; his Kindred nature would not allow him vulnerability or submission to any not his equal-who could not match him strength for strength. The predator within refused to cede control to any but one strong enough, powerful enough to stand with him in all things, guard his heart, protect their children...

_You must be strong enough to take me, cunning enough to trap me, brave enough to stand beside me. My shield, my sword, my heart and home. I can accept no less. And you are here, I can feel it. The question is whether _you _will choose _me

Draco closed his eyes trying to recapture any detail of the man shadowed in his dreams, brushed the long lock that framed his face behind his ear, and waited for the summons; one way or another, it would all be revealed soon enough.

After he'd, in fact, discovered that the tub was marvellous, Harry dried himself and straightened the collared, tunic-style, ivory robe trimmed in olive and deep crimson over his oxblood trousers and dragonhide boots. Like the robes he'd worn since his arrival, this one was also split from hem to hip, though it was longer than the others and fell all the way to his ankles instead of mid-thigh. Etienne had shown him the ensemble the night before, and Harry'd been both awed by, and apprehensive about, wearing such an obviously costly, and beautiful robe. Harry snickered remembering Etienne's response and fingered the--.

_Silk noil, right. Oh no, it's not enough to say nice fabric…sheesh Etienne!_

Harry chuckled all the way to the balcony, where he found the sun had dawned on a beautiful day. He tended to Ulrike, and watched, fascinated, as she launched into the morning sky, glorious in flight. Elly badgered him to eat, but his nerves were such that the prospect was repellent. He soothed the elf as best he could, and finally settled instead on a cup of tea to appease her while he waited for Etienne, who arrived not long after he'd placed the cup back in its saucer for the last time.

"Good morning Harry!" The Seer called with a smile.

"G'morning to you too Etienne. You're in a good mood."

Etienne bowed slightly, "as are we all Harry. Today begins the start of the courting. It's an important time for Kindred, a good time." He stretched out his hand, "Are you ready?"

Harry ran a hand through his already tousled locks. "Not really," he said lightly, hoping the banter would ease his nerves, "but whether I am or not, it's time to go."

Etienne took his hand, "Don't worry Harry. It will all happen as I've explained, and then the day is yours to do with as you wish. Relax, and stop worrying so much!" He added with a playful tap to Harry's arm.

He steered Harry out of the suite through the maze-like corridors, and in no time at all Harry found himself in an ornate waiting room with a small crowd of people. A few, like himself, were dressed the ivory robes, others wore the other kind of robes he'd seen while he'd been in The Citadel in various colours with different types of embroidery, cutwork, or lace to make them unique, and still others wore very formal looking robes of multiple layers. There was an air of excitement and expectation in the room, but little was said. Hushed conversations carried in brief whispers were the only sound, and the pointed looks shot between each grouping were a little unnerving. Harry was glad for Etienne's calm and steady presence at his shoulder.

They'd been waiting for some time when a very young woman made her way into the room. In no pattern that Harry could discern, she moved from group to group and drew the Intended into a line. When she reached Harry, Etienne clasped his hand, "It's time Harry. Just follow Seda, she will lead you into The Council Chamber. And remember there's nothing to fear. It's all very simple." With that, Etienne, and all those who'd escorted the Intended, left the room. Harry was the last in line, settled behind a statuesque young woman with deep auburn hair that fell in loose waves to her waist. If he'd had to guess, he'd say she was Kindred, which made him wonder if he were the only wizard among the Intended.

He didn't have long for his musings however, as Seda came and ushered them into a lavish meeting room where they stood in front of a large circular table. Fourteen people sat around the table, leaving the 'front' side open so no one had their backs to the Intended. And next to the empty fifteenth chair Marjeta and Etienne sat, close enough to be part of the proceedings, but obviously not members of The Council. Harry scanned each face, trying to get a feel for who they were. For the most part though, he found nothing but welcome and anticipation in their faces.

Occupied with his observations, it was some time before he noticed the diminutive woman with startling violet eyes and elaborately braided fawn-coloured hair, speaking to those assembled, intoning some kind of blessing. He assumed she was the priestess Etienne mentioned. She spoke softly, but great power echoed in her words as she deftly wove her small hands through the air in time with her incantation. Finally, she raised her hands, and drank from the gleaming crystal chalice she held aloft.

She made her way down the line, touching each Intended, brushing her fingers over their brows, then clasping their hands. Her face was wholly placid through the entire process, as she made her way from Aerun to Tau to Saeth, to Vren to Laes to Nyr and finally to Harry himself. "Raure," she said as she lowered his hands gently. Harry, now Raure, nodded his acceptance, and the priestess stepped aside.

"So you have been named, and such you shall remain until The Choosing. Well met Intended," a golden skinned woman with jet black hair, and almond shaped deep brown eyes, spoke from the large round table. "May each of you have joy among us," she inclined her head in a brief bow and everyone at the table stood. "I, Kaipat Matagolai, of the High Noble House Auberon, Clan Anata, voice of Clan Frigg welcome you." She bowed her head slightly in greeting.

A tall man with cropped blond hair and hazel eyes, to Kaipat Matagolai's left spoke next, "I, Ossian Lattimer, House Makani, Clan Anata, voice of Clan Coatlicue welcome you."

Harry perked up when a woman with artfully arranged dreadlocks, and skin and voice as rich as chocolate introduced herself as Belle Orifé, of House Jubal, Clan Anata, voice of Clan Isis. The Head of Eloene's House had a voice that was every bit as enchanting as her protégé, if very different in timbre. And so it went, until everyone at the table was introduced, and each clan, with the exception of Anata herself, was spoken for.

When The Council finished with their introductions, Marjeta gave her name to the Intended, explaining that as Castellan she was standing in for the High Lord, and speaking for the Most High Noble House Arsaelan, and Clan Anata, in his stead.

Once they'd dispensed with the formalities, the young girl that brought them in left the room and returned shortly after to announce the High Lord was ready. Like all the Intended Harry waited nervously for the Kindred's Most High to appear through the scrolled archway. And after a moment he did. Dressed similarly to the Intended, in olive coloured robes with crimson and ivory trim, a tall, lithe, young man with sparkling gray eyes and lustrous white blonde hair, made his way into The Council Chambers. Seda announced him, and all bowed deeply, with one exception. Harry wouldn't have shown respect or courtesy to the monster before him in any event, but as it was he couldn't because his brain had stopped sending signals to his body. He was immobilized by the raging red fury that clouded his vision and scorched his mind.

_The High Lord is Draco Bloody Malfoy! _

He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't. Draco Malfoy was dead! Everybody knew this. Everyone! He'd left school and rushed off to join Voldemort and his Death Eater minions before the end of 6th year. He couldn't even wait for the end term exams, he just up and left to grovel at the hem of a mad wizard's robes. Everyone knew Malfoy died during the war on some Death Eater raid, or was tortured to death by his master for failing to complete one task or another. There was no way he could be here now, standing before them head held high, eyes bright and kind, exuding gentle pride, quiet confidence, and immeasurable strength. This was not Draco Malfoy. Malfoy was dead! And if he weren't, then Harry was going to drag him back to face his crimes. He had no right parading around as though he were an innocent.

Blood roared in Harry's ears drowning out all but his frantic thoughts.

_A joke. This is some kind of sick joke, or a horrible mistake. This is not Draco Malfoy. Malfoy is dead! Dead dead dead. Dead with his Death Eater mates and roasting in hell like he belongs. This isn't happening._

Caught in a loop of anger and vehement denial, Harry lost track of his surroundings and the goings-on; he didn't register anything, and only after warm calloused palms fell away from his trembling hands, and now familiar words issued mechanically from his mouth, did he realize his colossal blunder.

"Deketh han, Raure, amir sen lasagh mien vie sede," he'd said, and now it was done. He'd committed himself to playing out this charade. Furious with himself, that he'd lost the chance to tell Malfoy to shove his courtship up his pureblood Death Eater arse, because he'd been distracted from the proceedings by his thoughts, feeling betrayed, and seething with rage at the injustice of it, Harry snarled and broke from the room, disregarding the shocked and outraged faces around him. He needed out. He had to get away, right now!

He couldn't stay; he couldn't! Harry whirled around and skittered out the door they'd entered before anyone could do more than gape in shock. Without direction or purpose, besides getting as much distance between himself and his enemy as possible, Harry ran.

Confusion and chaos erupted in The Council Chambers when Intended Raure bolted. The remaining Intended and newly named Honoured looked to each other and their guides uncertain and wary, this was nothing they'd been prepared for. Members of The Council whispered harshly to one another, or tried to regain their bearings, this was a new situation for them as well.

With a brief motion Draco sent Etienne after his charge then smoothly, employing all his grace and authority, went about resuming the ceremony's end.

Etienne finally located the young wizard in a dead-end corridor and ushered the shaking, furiously wrought, young wizard into a salon at the hallway's end. He tugged Harry inside, and warded the room for privacy before turning to face the enraged wizard.

"Tell me you didn't know!" Harry demanded, the clipped words a plea, as well as a vehement denial.

"Tell me of great 'Seer of the Clans'," Harry sneered as Etienne stood blankly, "that you didn't know your precious High Lord is a Death Eater, and willingly followed the madman that _murdered_ countless witches and wizards, including _my parents_!" Harry broke on his sob, overcome by a maelstrom of anger and disbelief. Unable to reconcile what he knew with what he'd learned, he turned away from Etienne, not wanting to show his guide his struggle, or how deeply he was hurt by the ongoing deception.

Etienne shook his head slowly. "That's not true Harry," he said kindly, gently, desperately worried about his charge's reactions.

Harry snorted, crossing his arms as though they could shield him, "Don't tell me it isn't true, Etienne. I _know_ it's true. I went to school with him for nearly six years. I know all about that sadistic, egomaniacal, sycophant in there! He left to join his father and Voldemort before the term even ended. Couldn't wait to crawl on his hands and knees to kiss the hem of that abomination's robes."

Harry wheeled around, stalking over to the Seer and pushed at his chest. "You say Kindred are living beings, not soulless or undead, but that is _exactly_ what he is! How did he manage it? Some Dark arts spell, yeah? Some kind of --"

Harry stopped mid-tirade, overcome by a sense of calm. He sat heavily on one of the room's settees, feeling as though it was what he needed to do, despite his anger and swirling thoughts. He would collect himself, and then he and Etienne would talk. Shouting got them no where, he would talk, and he would listen. Once he'd settled, he turned hard angry eyes to his guide, seated on a comfortable chair across from him.

"What did you do to me?" He asked, his placid voice belying the seething fury he fought to maintain, and that slipped away each time he grappled for it.

Etienne shrugged, "Casimir is not the only Mesmera you will meet Harry. And though you are very strong willed, in fact, I can feel you struggling against the compulsion which I think is quite amazing, the compulsion cannot be thrown off like the Imperius curse; it is a very different kind of magic, innate to my kind. I have done nothing more than ensure this is a conversation in which we can both take part. I have done nothing to interfere with your thoughts, nor have I influenced your thoughts in any way, I merely want us to speak to each other calmly."

"I'll never trust you again after this Etienne. It is a violation. You gave your word that no harm would come to me…but then, I've had enough experience with Death Eaters not honouring their pledges, I shouldn't have expected more." Harry said in a cool detached voice, though his eyes glinted hard like steel.

Hurt flashed in Etienne's eyes and the Seer sighed, "I suppose I deserved that. It _is_ a betrayal Harry, I know, and I _am_ sorry. Whether you can accept that now or someday, I cannot know, though I will hope, as I have grown rather fond of you."

"Though, it is necessary for now; you've left me little choice. There is much I do not understand, and so much anger in you. I cannot help you if we cannot listen to each other, and there is much I still have to teach you as you've accepted the courting, though it seems with Lord Draconis' appearance you've changed your opinion about Kindred, and I need to know why if I am to convince you that you are in error."

Harry snorted and Etienne pursed his lips in disapproval, "You _are_ wrong. We are not Death Eaters, Harry. The clans have never been in league with Voldemort or his followers, not in this war, nor the last. As far as I am aware, he was successful in recruiting a few of the rogue clans to his cause, but neither High Lord Romare, nor High Lord Draconis entertained any notion of alliance with that dark wizard."

Harry shook his head, "No! No matter what you say, I know Draco left to take the Dark Mark. And everyone knows he died during the war."

Etienne leaned back in his chair calmly, "And you know this how?"

As he answered Harry's breath was harsh, ragged with the memory of old hurts, "Everyone knows. He certainly boasted about his allegiances often enough," the wizard said bitterly, "he was just waiting for his chance to follow his deranged father in their bid for genocide!"

Shaking his head, Etienne, fixed Harry with a hard look, "If this is what 'everyone knows,' Harry, then _'everyone' _is wrong. I know the ideology a young Malfoy parroted in order to gain his father's attention and love. I know too, how futile those efforts were."

"A child," Etienne began softly, "will follow the example of his parents until he's enough of his own person to think, choose, and do for himself. Draco Malfoy, as you call him, turned his back on the gains sought by this Voldemort. He rejected what his birth family espoused. He has never been fouled by the dark wizard's mark, and is very much his own."

Etienne sighed, "Not all of his story is mine to tell Harry, but I assure you. I _swear_ to you, on the honour of my name, and my House, if you'll believe, that he is no Death Eater, that his loyalties are to the clans first and foremost." Etienne waved his hand a decanter of pale amber liquid appeared between them. He reached for a glass and poured for himself, lowering the bottle when Harry shook his head that he would not partake of its contents.

"Lord Draconis is neither Kindred born, nor turned, Harry. He is Kindred transformed. It is a rare occurrence, and that he survived speaks to his determination and his ability. He underwent a great and dangerous change in coming into his heritage and since then, trained and prepared, until he was ready and able to lead our people. Draw your own conclusions Harry, but perhaps you can explain if he is what you say, how he managed all that when he's been journeying or among us this last decade."

Harry frowned, what Etienne said made sense if it were true, but it's never easy to relinquish a long held belief, and Harry wasn't ready to let it go. "Why would he leave school if not to join the Death Eaters?" he challenged.

Etienne turned his long hands out in a gesture speaking of uncertainty, "I cannot say why he left Hogwarts, Harry. That is something he must answer himself, but I tell you truly that he is not marked, that he has never stood with Voldemort, and that he is good and honourable. I would never stand with one who would lead the clans to follow such a despot, neither The Council nor the clans would allow such a thing. I think," the Seer paused thoughtfully, "that you must consider if what you _know_ so surely, is anything more than supposition. Wizards can be a very prejudiced lot, and often jump to conclusions based on 'fact' they've interpreted to suit their whims. Perhaps what you think you've known is no more than what you've been lead to believe."

At this Etienne looked Harry over appraisingly, "and then again…perhaps there is more to this." He steepled his fingers, never breaking eye contact. Finally he nodded, "there is more to this," he said surely, "it is not just what has been said about Lord Draconis in the wizarding world, or that you think he was on the side opposite yours during your war with Darkness. There is something more…personal that fuels your disbelief."

Harry nodded firmly; he saw no reason to deny it. "I hate him," his voice dripped venom and bitterness. "I have from nearly the beginning of our acquaintance, and the feeling is quite mutual. We were rivals in school. He did all he could to belittle me and my friends. He attacked us constantly, and offered very assistance to a woman who came into the school to use the Dark Arts against children. He led the persecution of my late godfather's mate, who is a werewolf. He tried repeatedly to get me expelled--to separate me from the first real home I'd ever known. He derided my parents' death, and gloated when a young man was murdered when Voldemort was resurrected, contemptuous of the pain of all who knew and cared about him."

He huffed a breath, "He praised the actions of his father when the elder Malfoy enabled the spirit of Voldemort to gain possession of a young girl who then loosed a basilisk to attack the students, nearly killing some of the children." Harry shook his head, clearing the heavy weight of past pain away, "And when his father was finally brought to justice for his evil actions, put in prison for his part in a battle waged at the Ministry of Magic where my--" Harry paused and cleared his throat, all these years later it was still painful to speak of the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, "--my godfather died, Draco spoke out publicly in support of his father, calling for his release because he said me and my friends were liars. He belittled our pain and mocked my loss. He was monstrous."

Harry hung his head and contemplated the few scars that marred his hands, "I do not believe such a man could be good. I cannot conscience suffering the attentions of such a callous, self-centred, malicious being," he said softly.

Etienne leaned back in his chair, "Such grievous crimes, Harry. I do not blame you for your shock, or your reticence. I maintain however, that High Lord Draconis never followed the wizard who styled himself a Dark Lord. And--and I ask…" The Seer sighed heavily, "I ask, Harry, that you view the crimes of youth with an adult eye. You've held on to the pain of your childhood, and it would be wrong of me, or anyone, to say that pain doesn't matter. It effected you deeply, in some ways, influencing the directions in which you grew, serving as an example of who and how you did not want to be. And perhaps the actions and beliefs of that hurtful, arrogant child influenced Lord Draconis as well, perhaps in ways you did not see, or could not acknowledge. You are a very different person than you were at eleven or twelve, or even sixteen. Is it not possible that Lord Draconis is different from the child you hated and remember?"

Harry shook his head vehemently, "He hasn't changed. You can't change someone's fundamental essence."

Etienne perked a brow at this, "Can you not?"

"No," Harry said firmly, "Draco Malfoy was evil. Your Lord Draconis must be evil as well."

Etienne sighed and shook his head. "Such vehemence and condemnation, Harry," he said disapprovingly. "He was a child, no child should be dismissed as evil. Did he kill? Maim? To have it as you say, no one changes from how they were as children, and so by our first lessons, we are saved or damned. In such a rigid world I am surprised there are any who are considered good," he said shortly. "Every child who hurts another with cruel words or petty hexes then, should be locked away for the good of society then."

Harry smirked in annoyance, "That's not what I meant, Etienne. He's--"

"A man who is very different from the boy you knew," The Seer argued gently. "I know how young Malfoy was raised to act, and what he was expected to believe, Harry. I also know that he is no longer a child, and believe that you do not know him as you think you might. Is there no one you know who is different in adulthood from how they were in their youth? No one who has been exposed as an enemy who you thought was a friend? No one who has been more than what you thought and redeemed themselves?"

Etienne sighed, "Only you can know if you have the heart to see past the boy he was and forgive that misguided child. But should you choose to condemn him, do so because of who he is, not who you remember him to be."

Harry closed his eyes, wanting to toss a scathing retort, but nothing came to mind, instead, thoughts of betrayal, redemption, and change, flitted through his mind's eye. He thought briefly of Snape and the torment he'd endured at his father and Sirius' hands, of Seamus Finnegan and Percy Weasley, who were exposed as Death Eater spies, of Peter Pettigrew, who was thought to be a friend and betrayed that trust, and as he sat, thoughts and memories whirling and warring, he felt a gentle brush against his mind, something akin to a supportive pat on the shoulder, and with that he knew Etienne had released him and that he was now alone to find his own answers.

In The Council Chamber tempers were marginally cooler, but only by a fraction. Anger tainted the end of the short ceremony, and the remaining Intended and Honoured (as Draco had expected, the witch and the two Kindred-born women had refused the courtship), were ushered from room quickly, with the understanding that their guides, all prominent members of the Noble Houses, would attend them shortly.

"This is an outrageous affront," Prakash seethed. "Never has an Intended been so dismissive and disrespectful of our ways. Such behaviour cannot be tolerated! Raure must be ejected from the Amoraj!"

A few others murmured their agreement, and emboldened by their support, Prakash continued ranting about honour and respect, demanding Harry's exclusion.

The High Lord took his place at the table and held up his hands, "Enough!" he said harshly, and the room quieted. "Intended Raure is a wizard. You must remember that he was not raised to this, and had no true understanding of what would happen here today. He has accepted the courtship, and despite the disruption caused by his sudden departure, the ceremony was completed. _That _is what matters. None of you will fault him for being overwhelmed by the newness of all of this. As his guide, Etienne has already gone to comfort him, and I believe all will be well."

Draco turned a hard eye to Prakash, "I am disappointed in you Lord Counsellor Prakash. It is the height of hubris to call for ejection. The workings of Fate and the Great Mother brought him here to me to search out the compatibility of our souls. Would you deny what She has ordained? You know what conditions must be met to oust an Intended as well as I, and in no way has Raure shown himself to be a danger to me. To call for ejection is a rash, petty action, and I expect more level-headed behaviour from The Council. Such attitudes are unbecoming and dangerous to our ability to interact with other magical beings. If we cannot show compassion and understanding when dealing with those unfamiliar with our customs, then how are we ever to treat with other magical beings?"

His next words were cold and smooth, and cut into them like winter wind on an iced lake, "As for the rest of The Council, I would _remind_ all of you that the Intended are _my _guests. The honour of my Court and Kindred tradition, demand that each of them be treated with nothing less than the utmost courtesy and respect." Draco glared at the assembly, his warning clear to all of them, "they will not be disparaged in any way."

Some at the table had the grace to look abashed at the chastisement and their quick judgment, recognizing that they'd been blinded by their expectations of perfect comportment on the part of the Intended, and by what they'd felt was an outright rejection of their traditions. Rethinking their outrage, they admitted that some leeway should be expected. They hadn't made allowances for how possibly overwhelming it might all be to one newly exposed to a culture so different from his own.

Others were resentful of Draco's admonishment, but hid their anger behind polite masks. "You are, of course, right Lord Draconis. Perhaps some of us were too quick to fault the young wizard," Barnabus interjected smoothly, his own mask firmly in place. "The trappings of ritual are sometimes less important than the intent. I'm sure Intended Raure meant no offence, and certainly this should not be cause for strife among us." Barnabus cleared his throat, "I say we put the ceremony's disruption from our minds and content ourselves that the meaning has been preserved, after all there are other pressing matters to address. That said, however, let me be the first to congratulate you, milord, and wish you well in the Courting." He nodded at Draco's brief acknowledgement.

With a hint of a smile Draco thanked him graciously, if a bit curtly, "Now, to attend to the business of the Clans, regarding the Su Li's petition on behalf of those in support of House Inari, I have decided…"

Burning with embarrassment at having been so singled-out, Prakash, with the ease of long practice, pulled his attention from Draco's speech. Catch words and key phrases would alert him should he need to respond to direct questioning, and any business pertinent to his own ends would be reviewed with Barnabus later. None of what that foolish boy had to say mattered for much. Once Barnabus took his rightful place as Most High there would be broad changes, nothing that self-important simpleton instituted would remain in place. Prakash had a very concrete vision of the future, one that kept with their traditions, it certainly did not include what he felt was an invitation to sedition.

There would be none of what he felt was blatant pandering to factions within the Clans. That the upstart would even consider allowing new Houses was yet another sign of his weakness. And the integrated trade with Non-Kindred nonsense, was another strike against him; isolation was the way of the Kindred, something the man-child obviously did not understand. And that too would be made clear, Lord Draconis was a child, barely a decade into his inheritance, and already determined to bring them all to ruin with his fanciful ideas of progress.

Across the table, Barnabus' thoughts were similarly occupied, though he was more concerned with ways to put the tithe he would demand from the communities of other magical beings to work; while Prakash thought on tradition, he pondered domination.

Domination and revenge.

Barnabus' eyes hardened as he glanced around the table. In his mind, nearly all of them were marked for death. They were traitors, those who'd stood with his uncle, refusing to countermand his decision to name an unknown as his heir. A full vote from The Council could have overridden the dying lord's declaration, but they'd been Romare's cowed lackeys to the bitter end. And so they were complicit in stealing his birthright away. They were guilty of betrayal, of treason, and all of them would die. His eyes took on a maniacal glint as his gaze landed on the most treacherous of them all.

He tamped down his anger at his cousin; Marjeta was addressing The Council on some finer points of the House Inari petition, and it was her habit to make eye contact with her audience as she spoke. It would not do for her to see the depths of his animosity.

Just as he gained greater control over his rage, she looked to him with a small smile and his fury again blossomed, coursing through him bitterly. Hers was the ultimate betrayal, and for that he was determined she would pay. It wasn't enough that she'd refused his marriage proposal, rejecting him before their entire family, claiming that she was waiting for her soul's match to be revealed. No, she had gone even further, humiliating him by eventually choosing one of their uncle's cast-offs. And then when their Uncle Romare had made such a misguided choice, she had stood with him in claiming the no-name upstart as kin, pledging fealty to that insignificant whelp, over her own blood family! She should have spoken for him; it was no secret that their uncle had valued her counsel and opinions. She should have appealed to him to name Barnabus as his heir. He swore to himself that Marjeta would come to regret casting her lot with the interloper when it was Barnabus who should've had her loyalty. She should have honoured the bonds of kinship, of friendship, between them. Bonds forged long ago, ones that obviously meant less to her than they had to him.

It felt as though she had always been there for him, and her new allegiances burned; they were as foul as acrid bile in his mouth. Bitterness and sadness wrenched his gut as the noble recalled the closeness of their youth. For over a century she had been his stalwart, when it became apparent that Meline would never be able to sustain a pregnancy and Barnabus' family relocated to The Citadel so he could be groomed to take his place as Romare's heir, it was Marjeta who welcomed him. It was she who comforted him when the longing for the familiar sites and sounds of his homeland threatened to overwhelm him. It was Marjeta who reassured him that he was valued for himself and not just as his father's tool when Marcus' lust for power became an obsession appeased vicariously through the achievements of his son. His cousin was the one who tended him when his father cruelly lashed out his frustrated ambition. Marjeta was the only one to visit him when, by his father's order, he'd been sent on an extended tour of the clans, which amounted to exile, in order to establish himself among the Clan chiefs and learn the inner workings of Clan politics first-hand. His kin, and only true friend, Marjeta was the one who observed the rites with him when his father succumbed to Soul mate's Grief after his mother was murdered by vampire hunters.

She had befriended him, comforted him, encouraged him, through numerous trials she'd been with him, and now…his eyes hardened, now it seemed it was all for naught. For it was Marjeta who stood silent as an unknown claimed the mantle of leadership. His cousin pledged her service to him, to the interloper! And worse, she was proud--proud! And cretin had made her his Castellan while he, Barnabus, was relegated to a mere seat on The Council. He should have been Most High, or barring that (which was unthinkable), he should have been Castellan so he could guide the clans in the way he saw fit, making sure Lord Draconis was no more than a figurehead.

Barnabus shook his head lightly, and calmed himself as his gaze settled firmly on his cousin. Yes, she would be punished for her transgressions. A cruelly lecherous grin flashed across his face as the session ended, and his treacherous cousin followed the presumptuous idiot from The Council Chamber; she would suffer prolonged agony, he resolved. He would have his revenge, through Eloene he would break Marjeta's spirit, and then as she reeled from the violation of their soul bond, he'd end her life.

Tbc…

**A/N 2:** Next chapter…the aftermath…dun dun dun! And FYI, just in case anyone is interested…

Namesake Goddesses of the Clans:

Frigg : Ancient earth goddess as recognised in Norse mythology. Considered closer to humanity and to the concerns of civilized human beings; also the goddess of love and fertility, the sky, marriage, and motherhood. It was believed that she knew the fate of each person, but kept it a close secret. She is sometimes represented as Odin's wife.

Coatlicue : Ancient Aztec goddess. Coatlicue is considered the goddess of the earth and mother of all the gods. She also gave birth to the moon and stars. She was depicted wearing a skirt made of snakes.

Isis : Egyptian goddess of earth. She is the goddess of agriculture, law, healing, motherhood, and fertility.

Izanami : Japanese Shinto earth mother. Izanami is the primordial goddess of existence, who represents all that is gracious and heavenly. Her power and grace created the earth and all humanity.

You got comments? Criticisms? Review! Pretty Please!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and co. all belong to J.K. Rowling and her associates and representatives.

**A/N: **The awaited update! Sorry it's taken so long, I could go on about RL issues and writer's block and such, but I think you'd much rather just get to the next chapter, so here it is. Usual warnings apply: SLASH! Unbeta'd (though I'll update with a beta'd version as soon as my beta gets it back to me) and Thanks for your continued interest in my story. And just a reminder--reviews are a good thing!

**7.**

As though he'd been transfigured to stone, Harry sat still, thinking on what Etienne said. Despite his musings he found no answers were coming to him. He was still angry and felt betrayed. He'd trusted Etienne and Marjeta's judgement, that their High Lord was worth meeting, worth knowing, he'd felt--something…vague interest maybe, certainly curiosity about the mysterious man who'd presented him with such thoughtful gifts. But how to reconcile what he'd felt with what happened? Etienne said no harm would come to him, but the Seer had still restrained him, and velvet rope, or iron chains, such an action was a violation. Etienne had been in his mind for Merlin's sake! And Malfoy…how does a pureblood wizard who derides all things muggle come to be the kind of man who gives muggle books, well read, and personally significant muggle books, as a gift to someone he's hoping to woo. And that was another problem altogether. Harry had agreed to the courting, he'd spoken the words and bound himself. His honour demanded he stay and see it through, but he felt he'd given consent by trickery…well not trickery per se, but if he'd known… And so he went in circles, every question spawning another two.

Harry thought again on Etienne's words, _did_ he have the heart to see past the boy who tormented him and forgive that boy? Was that really courage, or was it idealistic folly to think Malfoy had changed? Could he give Draco Malfoy a second chance? Get to know the man that Etienne said was different from the boy he'd known? The questions Etienne asked echoed within him. Yes, he'd known many who were different in adulthood from how they'd been in their youth. It had been so painful when his team walked into an ambush and realised that only Seamus could have given their location away. Before then he would have sworn there was no truer Gryffindor, no truer friend than the brashly endearing Irishman. He hadn't seen how Dean's death had changed him. He'd never suspected that Seamus held the resistance responsible for not ending the war before his best friend was stolen from him.

No one saw that blame turn to resentment, anger, and a misguided vengeance. Seamus blamed Dumbledore, blamed the Order, blamed Harry, and sought to hurt them as he had been. Seamus reminded Harry, as if he could ever forget, that war is personal. It wasn't about blood politics or power for him, just loss and revenge. A friend exposed as an enemy, yes. And like so many things, it was an experience that made Harry wary of blind trust. How could he ever come to trust Draco Malfoy? Despite what he'd said, he knew he still trusted Etienne; there was something about the Seer that spoke to Harry of truth, honesty and deep caring. Etienne had disappointed him, and taken advantage, but Harry recognised that the Kindred felt he hadn't a choice. He'd needed to get through to Harry, and quickly. It hurt, deeply, but it was something he could forgive.

_The choices we make define us… So can I choose to forgive Malfoy? And what will it mean if I do? Etienne said if I choose to condemn him, it should be 'cause of who he is, not because of who I remember. Do I even want to know him as he is now? So who is Draco Malfoy, High Lord of the Kindred? _

"HE IS AN UNFIT WRETCH!" Prakash roared as the door of his suite slammed shut. Suruthi sighed and set her needle aside, her husband was again in one of his moods, and she would get no further with her embroidery this day. Shaking her head bemusedly she briefly checked over her work, then stood and went to meet him in parlour where he'd go to rant and rail for an hour or so.

"I take it things did not go as you'd hoped today?" She said placidly, crossing the room to wrap her arms around her furious husband, offering what comfort she could, in lieu of supportive agreement. Though she loved Prakash dearly, it was understood that their political views were rather divergent. Unlike her husband, she adored the young High Lord and was impressed by his foresight and acumen.

Prakash snorted, "Of course things did not go as I had hoped. It is as I have said all along, he is weak and unworthy, even the Intended have sensed this. It is shameful enough that he lured only seven with The Pull, and of those, three have refused the courting. And of those who accepted one had the audacity to upset the ceremony and leave before it was complete. And did he do anything? NO! He excused that abominable behaviour with some nonsense about the man being a wizard and unused to our customs! It was shameful I tell you!"

Suruthi said nothing, thinking instead of whether she'd have enough time to complete the robes she'd no doubt be asked to embroider for The Choosing. She was renowned for her needlework, and she was certain Marjeta would call soon to ask about the robes. If there were only four Days of Courting, she would have to work quickly. It was often this way, Prakash would vent his spleen, and she would concern herself with other matters until he'd regained a sense of calm. Tonight it seemed he was particularly agitated, so she resigned herself to a long wait, until…

"…whelp--er--Draconis," he corrected himself at his wife's disapproving cough, "bullied the majority of The Council into accepting that ridiculous proposal. We'll feast Clan Izanami's new House, the House Inari," he sneered, "in a week's time. It is scandalous that he encourages such division within the clans. He will be our doom Suruthi," he swore angrily.

Suruthi shook her head, "When will you learn Prakash," she said gently. "Change is not something to be feared. Throughout time Kindred have adapted, we have embraced change to preserve our way of life, even as we have held on to our traditions. It is no failing to look beyond tradition for answers to how to live in a changing world. High Lord Draconis merely seeks to move us in a direction that will keep us from stagnating."

Prakash pulled away from his wife, "So he would have you believe," he scoffed. "It doesn't matter," he said finally, "It will all be put right. There are those who will not stand idly by as he works to destroy us from within." Prakash went to the sidebar and poured himself a drink of rich amber liquid. He knocked it back quickly and poured again as his wife stood in shock.

"What are you saying?" she asked harshly. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes narrowed as she examined her husband's demeanour, "You speak of treason, Prakash!"

The lord of House Tipu shrugged, "It is not treason if it preserves our way of life. _He _is the treacherous one, and you would do well to remember it."

Suruthi sank heavily into a chair. "Prakash, I-I cannot condone such a thing," she said in a small disbelieving voice, stunned at have her suspicions confirmed so.

Prakash dropped his glass and held her arm painfully, leaving deep bruises on her forearm, "You are my wife Suruthi, and you have sworn never to betray me. I will not allow you to jeopardise our plans. Do you understand?"

Suruthi said nothing, but winced Prakash gripped her arm further and shook her forcefully. "I-I understand," she said finally, tears glistening in her once luminous brown eyes, dulled by pain and betrayal.

Prakash grunted and swept from the room as she rubbed her bruised arm gingerly. Already the discomfort was fading, all Kindred healed fast, the emotional wound though, was one she thought might never heal. They disagreed, they argued, everyone knew how very opinionated Prakash and Suruthi Bhushan were. It was something she relished in her marriage, that no matter whether they agreed or not, they respected each other's opinions and philosophical strengths. Prakash had never lashed out at her in anger, not ever, and certainly not over a difference in opinion. But this was greater than a simple rhetorical difference, it was clear to Suruthi, that her beloved husband had caught himself up in something dangerous, something treasonous, something that could very well hurt other people, and endanger Kindred society.

She sighed, she had vowed to be a good wife, a good partner, but if she could not counsel Prakash against his actions, it was her responsibility, painful though it may be, to keep him from harming himself and others. Her duty was to her husband, her House, and her Clan; she was coming to the painful realisation that loyalty to one did not necessitate loyalty to all. Face firmly set in determined lines, Suruthi rose. Her brother, Mudasir, was unveiling a new sculpture in The Citadel's Lower Gardens later in the evening. Surely, Belle and Eloene would be there to support one of House Jubal's finest artisans. Marjeta would be there too, and she would go to Marjeta. The Castellan would know what to do.

Before she could act on her plan to leave early for the unveiling, Prakash re-entered the salon, a solid silver choker, studded with small emeralds and engraved with unfamiliar runes, in his hands. "I have something for you Ame," he said silkily, and for the first time in her marriage Suruthi was afraid of her husband. She regained her seat cautiously as Prakash approached.

"What's the occasion?" she forced out in a falsely bright tone, looking closer at the necklace she saw the gemstones were highly flawed, each bearing cobweb-like veining, her sense of foreboding grew.

"No occasion, Suruthi. This is merely a token of my affection, and of my belief in your loyalty and…commitment, to me."

Suruthi's heart and hands trembled as she pulled the thick rope of braid that hung from her nape away from her throat so Prakash could fasten the necklace. She knew there was much more to it than what he'd said. She was fearful of it, but knew her husband was stronger and faster than she. To refuse would mean her death. For now she would yield to his wishes and wear the necklace; she would survive, and somehow she would find a way to warn her Clan about the traitor in their midst. As the necklace settled at the base of her throat, just brushing her collarbones, Suruthi felt a powerful magic wash over her.

She gasped, "Tahnu Amta, what have you done?"

Prakash's smile was predatory, "Why Rajkumari, I have done nothing but protect you. I'm hurt you would think I would gift you something harmful." His eyes hardened, "that you would think so little of me proves how greatly you've been corrupted by that whelp's attitudes. Soon you'd be spouting the same treacherous nonsense in the name of _progress,_" he sneered. "It is my duty as you husband to help you. To show you the error of such beliefs, before you loose sight of the value of our ways, and dishonour our House."

"Don't call him--ahhh!" Suruthi cried out as the choker burned the delicate flesh of her throat.

Once she'd caught her breath she raised tear-filled eyes to her husband's smirking visage, "You see? I have helped you. No longer will you gainsay my wisdom Suruthi. You will obey me; you will speak only as I have given you permission to. Too long have I let you go unchecked. You will learn to be a proper wife. The Lady of House Tipu should never contradict her husband, it is unseemly, and gives rise to others questioning my judgement. You have forgotten your place, and it is only right that I take a firmer hand in reminding you."

Suruthi stared at her husband wide-eyed as the full consequence of his words and actions crashed down on her like a torrent of ice-cold rain, a control collar. He'd collared her like some kind of pet, like--an animal! Under its influence he could dictate all but her thoughts, and even then constant exposure would wear down her independent will. She shook her head gingerly, as her neck was still sore, and a monstrous headache had bloomed behind her eyes, in disbelief.

Control collars, a wizarding invention from an age when wizards, taking a page from the muggles' book, considered witches little more than breeding chattel. During that time witches held fewer rights than pet kneazles in terms of autonomy, self-determination and self-sovereignty, as for the collars--in Kindred society, where value, ability and respect had never hinged on gender hierarchy, they were considered an abomination. The wizarding world had finally come to its senses and most of the collars were destroyed.

Suruthi knew that they were rare and highly illegal, in fact she only knew as much as she did about them because her aunt who'd married a Kindred-turned, wizardborn had worn one her entire married life. She remembered admiring the delicately wrought silver choker set with numerous precious gems once, when she was a girl, and her aunt and mother telling her that it was a sign of subjugation and shame, not a bauble to be admired. She'd learned an important lesson that day, that being soul-mated and married did not guarantee happiness, that there could be cruelty and abuse in marriage as well. To have a good marriage both mates had to want to be better people for each other, and treat each other with love and respect. The bonds would form between them, but they could be weakened, perverted, or poisoned by jealousy, neglect, callousness, or complacency. It was a lesson she'd passed on, and she hoped their son and daughter had taken her words to heart and wouldn't forget, as she had.

Prakash had been changing, becoming obsessed with the High Lord's vision and his perceived faults. She hadn't paid attention, hadn't challenged him, and now a stranger in her husband's body had chained her will to his own. Suruthi closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. She would not be cowed, she resolved. This round went to Prakash, but she would be the fight's victor. She didn't know how he'd come by the collar, but it would not overcome her. As with every charm and spell, there were counters, or ways around the restrictions. Already she was making a plan. It would still involve attending the unveiling, but instead of seeking out Marjeta she would search out her mother. If anyone could find a way to negate some of the collar's power it would be her parents, they knew the magical properties and applications of every existing stone and gem. Prasad and Anupama Saha were not the best gemsmiths in The Citadel for nothing, and once she'd countered the effects of the damnable collar, she'd raise the alarm and perhaps get _her_ Prakash back.

Harry finally roused himself and left the salon to wander aimlessly through The Kynaston. For hours, he ambled through the corridors and courtyards, finally by accident rather than design, he found himself back at his own suite. Tired from his mental struggle, and hungry, he entered his rooms gratefully. He spared a thought for a nap, then decided he'd better fill the grumbling hole that was his stomach first. He pulled the cord and Elly appeared with a pop.

"How may Elly be serving Intended Raure?" she asked with near reverence in her squeaky little voice.

Harry sighed, "It's just Harry, Elly. You don't need to call me Intended Raure."

_In fact, right now I'd prefer if you didn't. _

Wing-like ears drooped as she frowned, "It is a great honour to be Intended. Elly is showing respect." An expression crossed the little elf's face that Harry thought might be the equivalent of Molly Weasley disapprovingly pursing her lips. "If Elly may be saying so, you is acting like this is bad. Being Intended is not bad Master Harry."

"Please, it's just Harry, Elly," he sighed, "and to be honest, I'm not sure being an Intended is all that good for me."

This time Harry was certain the look was à la Molly Weasley, and he hadn't thought it possible for house--er--Maurai elves' eyes to get any bigger, but Elly proved him wrong as her bulbous eyes widened impossibly larger with shock. "How is you saying such a thing?" gasped the scandalised elf. She frowned, "Elly is thinking maybe Harry is not understanding what it means being Intended Raure."

This gave Harry pause, no so much that Elly thought he'd misunderstood his part in the Amoraj, but that she might provide a different insight to all of this. Maybe something she knew would help him answer how a people as proud and honour bound as the Kindred, willingly followed Draco Malfoy.

_Sirius said you can gain the measure of a man by how he treats his lessers not his equals. Kindred don't treat the hou--um--Maurai elves as slaves like some wizards do, but they are servants, lesser in rank, and rank seems to be an important thing around here. Elly seems happy to serve--which might not be saying much actually, since Kreacher was happy to serve the Blacks and see how that went…But maybe…maybe I can learn something from Elly to help me make some sense of all this…makes sense of--him… _

He worried his bottom lip absently as he thought, then nodded. "Elly, maybe-um-maybe I haven't understood everything. I-I think I could use some help in sussing it out. Would you mind having a chat with me over tea?"

The little elf smiled broadly. "Intended Raure is asking Elly to tea?" she squeaked. "Elly is knowing, Intended Raure is being good and kind just like Lord Draconis!"

Harry bit back a snicker as she just barely refrained from doing some sort of happy victory dance around his suite. He cleared his throat, "Er-yes well, I don't know how like Lo-Lord Draconis I am, but I would very much appreciate your taking tea with me."

The elf curtseyed deeply and with a snap of her fingers tea and all the requisite accoutrements appeared on his terrace table. Pleased that she'd remembered he liked to eat on the terrace he gallantly reached for her hand and walked her through the suite to the laid table. It seemed wrong somehow that such a dignified creature had to scramble up to the seat, so Harry transfigured one of the chairs to suit her, then magically raised its legs so she would have easy reach.

A few moments later, he'd sat himself and noted with some surprise that though she was technically his guest, Elly had proceeded to pour his tea and fix his plate as though she was his hostess.

"Thank you, Elly," he said politely, sipping from the perfectly prepared tea.

"You is being most welcome, Intended Raure."

Harry sighed. "Please, just Harry, Elly."

Elly nodded but her mien was rather serious as she sipped her own tea. In fact, Harry felt a little like a penitent with a confessor, or worse like he'd been brought before Professor McGonagall for pulling pranks, rather than a wizard having a house-er-Maurai elf to tea.

Elly either didn't notice, or ignored his discomfort, though he was relatively certain it was the latter as she folded her long spindly fingers over each other and looked to Harry earnestly.

"Elly is wanting to be Master Harry's friend. Just as Elly is being Lord Draconis' friend. Lord Draconis is sometimes asking Elly to take a meal with him and we is talking, talking, talking," she frowned a moment in thought, "sometimes we is laughing too, but Master Harry is not needing the laughing. Master Harry is needing a friend to listen. So Elly is listening and is giving advice, just as Elly is doing for Lord Draconis. Now what is Master Harry wanting to know? How is Elly be helping him understand about being Intended? You is being scared of something and maybe Elly can be helping Master Harry be less scared." While he was surprised that Draco Malfoy would eat with a hou-Maurai, surely he considered it a lowering of his standards. Elly's tone invited shared confidences, it was so serious, and the look so engaging, that despite her poor grammar, Harry was certain she was channelling Minerva McGonagall.

And as he had when called to conference with his old Transfigurations professor, Harry shifted a bit nervously in his seat. He sighed and finally met her astute bulbous eyes.

"I'm not so much scared, Elly. I suppose, I-I just have a…a bad feeling about Mal-Dra-Lord Draconis."

A hard angry light filled her wide eyes, "You is thinking Lord Draconis is bad, Master Harry? That is not the truth! Who is saying such a terrible thing about Lord Draconis?" she demanded, and Harry was sure that at any moment she'd launch from her chair to track down the tale-telling miscreant.

"Oh. Oh no one's said anything bad about him," he soothed, "It's me, Elly. _I_ have a bad feeling about him."

The elf frowned. "Elly is not knowing why Master Harry is thinking such a thing. Lord Draconis is very good. He is very kind."

Again Harry sighed, "I keep hearing how good he is, but how can you believe that? I can't just trust what other people say about him."

Elly tipped her head to the side as though considering, and raised her cup for another sip of tea. "Why not Master Harry?" She asked once she'd swallowed, "Master Seer is also telling you about Lord Draconis. Why is you not trusting what Master Seer says? Master Seer and Elly is telling the truth."

"I-I just…How do you know, Elly? How do you know Lord Draconis is good."

"Elly is knowing because Elly is seeing Lord Draconis doing good things. Lord Draconis is caring about all the Kindred. He is listening; listening to everyone's troubles and what they is thinking, and then he is making smart decisions to help his people. He is fighting the bad wizards that is always trying to hurt and kill the Kindred. He is kind to the Maurai, and is treating us good," Elly sniffed. "He is not like some that is hurting us, and treating us very cruel. He saved Elly, and made Elly his friend. He is good, Master Harry. Elly is knowing."

Harry listened to the little elf's impassioned speech, and was oddly moved by it. Maurai, though simple creatures were fiercely loyal, and that Draco Malfoy had earned the trust and regard of a free elf like Elly, said something. Harry was intrigued; knowing all too well how hou-um-Maurai were treated at Malfoy Manor, inviting an elf to eat at his table must be sign of some kind of profound change. To dine with an elf as an equal? As a friend? Definitely not behaviour becoming a Malfoy. And how did someone like Malfoy come to befriend an elf anyway?

"Elly, what do you mean Ma-Dra-Lord Draconis saved you?"

Spindly fingers tangled around each other, over and over again, as the small elf grew agitated, "Elly is visiting Elly's cousin, Coby," she began haltingly. "Elly is not knowing visiting is not being allowed by Coby's master. Coby's master is a mighty wizard, but very cruel. He is making Coby punish herself for all little things, and is hurting Coby all the time, beating and hitting and hexing…"

Elly's thin lips trembled and her ears drooped low, "Coby is getting very sick and Elly is going to be helping Coby so Coby is getting better," she nearly whispered. "Elly is bringing medicine from Mistress Cora at the Healing Hall for Coby, and Elly is doing all Coby's chores so Coby is getting better."

Harry reached across the table to pet the elf's hand when she whimpered at her memories and was rewarded with a weak watery smile, "Master Harry is very kind." She sniffed and fished a rather dainty handkerchief from her coat pocket, "It is not so easy to remember, Master Harry. It is a hurtful thing."

Harry frowned feeling some guilt at encouraging the elf to revisit her painful memories for the sake of his curiosity. He was all too familiar with the feeling. "I'm sorry, Elly; you don't have to tell me any more."

Elly sniffed again and shook her head vehemently. "No, Master Harry is wanting to know how Lord Draconis is good, and how he is Elly's friend, so Elly is telling," she said firmly, again launching into her story. "Coby's master is not being able to tell the difference, that Elly is not Coby, and he is hurting Elly, but Elly is not minding because Coby is getting much better. Then one day Coby's master is away and Elly is cleaning the front hall, and polishing the floors. Elly is not knowing that Coby's master is home again and the floors is being very slippery. Coby's master is falling down, and is getting very angry. He is beating, beating Elly, and Coby is coming, is begging her master to stop hurting Elly," fat tears rolled down the elf's cheeks, but she doggedly continued, determined to finish her frightful tale, "but he is getting more and more angry. He is saying Coby is being a lay-about and sneak because Elly is doing her work."

Harry leaned forward to catch her words, as Elly curled in on herself, huddling her tiny form on the chair, "He is being so angry," she cried softly, "so very very angry. And he is hexing us, and then he is calling for the hot iron from the fire and hitting us."

The elf breathed deeply, and unfolded herself to bring her eyes up to Harry's, "We is screaming Master Harry; and Elly is knowing that Coby's master is killing us, but Coby cannot be leaving. Coby is not being free, and Elly is not leaving Coby, so Elly is dying too." She again offers the weak watery smile, "But Elly and Coby is not dying. We is being saved."

"Lord Draconis?" he asked quietly, the pieces coming together slowly, even as he was shamed and sickened at the reminder of the depravity visited on house-elves by Wizardkind.

Elly nodded, "He is hearing us screaming. He is bursting into the house and taking the hot iron away. He is striking Coby's master and telling the bad wizard that beating house elves is not showing power, is only showing weakness and is pitiful. Lord Draconis is challenging Coby's master to fight someone with power to fight back, but Coby's master is being a coward. Coby's master is throwing a handkerchief at Coby and is running from Lord Draconis deep into the house. And then Coby is being free," she said joyous for a moment.

"Lord Draconis is carrying Coby and Elly even though he is being very tired and hurt and blood sick. Elly is knowing he is needing Kindred medicine, but Elly's magic is being too weak to take Elly, Coby and Lord Draconis all the way to The Citadel. Elly is bringing us far, but Lord Draconis is still walking and carrying us for three days. He is caring for Elly and Coby and talking with us. Coby is hurting very bad and Lord Draconis is telling her stories and jokes so the pain is not seeming so much. He is keeping us warm and hunting and cooking for us, and bringing us water," Elly sighed, "he is taking very good care of Elly and Coby until we is meeting the guards, and they is carrying Elly and Coby and Lord Draconis to the Healing Hall."

Harry smiled gently, "And you were healed and you, Coby and Lord Draconis have been friends ever since?"

Harry's smile faltered and died as Elly's ears fell again, "No, only Elly is being Lord Draconis' friend. Coby is dying in the Healing Hall. Coby's master is hitting her too much and too hard."

"Oh, Elly, I'm so sorry!" Harry reached out and took up the elf's long thin hands in his own. "I'm so sorry about Coby, Elly."

The elf sighed deeply and nodded her thanks for Harry's sympathy. After a moment of pained silence she mustered a faint bittersweet smile. "Elly is being sad to lose her cousin, but Coby is being free before Coby died. Coby is laughing and hearing good stories and funny things and smiling more than Coby is ever doing at Coby's master's house. Elly is never forgetting and is being very grateful to Lord Draconis for that. This is how Elly is knowing Lord Draconis is good, even before he is being Lord Draconis. He is only being Draconis then, but Elly is calling him Draco because he is being Elly's good good friend."

it seemed there was much more to Draco Malfoy than he'd thought. It was hard to refute the kindness and sincerity Elly described, but it was harder still to adjust to the shift in his perceptions. To accept that Draco Malfoy has shown such caring, that he wasn't a Death Eater, went against so much of what Harry come to believe, what he thought he knew. If he could be wrong, as both Etienne and Elly explained, about such a long held and fundamental belief, i.e. that Draco Malfoy was evil incarnate, then what else might he be wrong about? It was an uncomfortable feeling to be confronted with the weight of his erroneous judgement. Could he really have been so wrong? In Harry's worldview, some things were simple--that Draco Malfoy was evil, had sold his soul to a murderous megalomaniac in a bid for power and prestige, and lost when Harry brought Tom Riddle to his final end, was one such simple truth, and now he was finding that with all things, simple truths were often anything but.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as new knowledge warred with his preconceptions. For now he would reserve judgement. He would do as he'd promised and take part in the Amoraj, and perhaps he would find the answers he sought. Answers that would once again bring order to his perspectives. "Thank you, Elly. I think I understand better now."

"You is accepting being Intended Raure now?" the elf asked cautiously.

Harry nodded and smiled faintly, "Yes, I think I am."

A broad grin split the elf's face nearly in half, "That is good Master Harry. Very good." With a wave of her hand her chair reverted to its usual form and she hopped out, "Thank you for tea, Elly is needing to be in the kitchens now, but Elly is being very glad we is talking."

Harry smiled, "Thank _you_ Elly. Tea again soon?"

"Elly is liking that very much, Intended Raure." She again curtseyed and with a pop disappeared from view.

Harry had the feeling she'd used his new name and title purposefully and shook his head with a wry grin. "I'll see you later Elly, Thanks again." Though he spoke into nothingness, he had the feeling that somehow she'd heard his parting words.

The revelations of the day caused his head to spin, and Harry decided the best solution was to muffle his mind's disquiet in sleep. He'd wanted a kip before tea with Elly at any rate, and though he was sure he'd toss and turn for a while, he was certain the emotional drain of the day would push him into slumber eventually. He washed his face and hands and changed into the sumptuous pyjamas he'd been provided before slipping between the decadent linens of his bed.

The drain of banked frustration and anger, confusion about the Amoraj and the revelation of a Draco Malfoy beyond his preconceptions worked to slow Harry's mind faster than he thought, and by the time his head reached the overstuffed pillows he was asleep.

Again he was dreaming, and it was dark. Moonlight flowed through the single window, sheer panels diffusing its light casting gauzy shadows all around him. Yet he was safe and unafraid. Before he could fully register the haze of disorientation, strong arms wrapped around his waist and gentle kisses were rained down his neck. It wasn't quite seduction, as though his phantom lover was aware of the day's emotional rigours. The touches were light, soothing, comforting, as he led Harry to the shadowy room's large bed. With a touch here, a stroke there he led Harry through the removal of his clothes, and once Harry was laid bare, he began stroking in earnest, kneading away the uncertainty, the frustration, the impossibility of all he'd committed to and was yet to understand. With warm hands possessed of a gentle strength his lover soothed away the tension in his head and neck. His hands flowed over Harry's shoulders working away the knots and stress there and stroked down his arms then torso, smoothing the strain from his even his wrists and fingers before skating to his ribs and back. He caressed firm buttocks, but made no move to part them, to gain more intimate entry. By the time his unseen lover's hands caressed the lean muscles of Harry's legs, the dark-haired man was a loose tingling mass, and even his feet were eased to bonelessness, with a touch that was close to tickling, but not quite, as each of his toes were treated to the same lavish treatment. Harry purred and his lover chuckled lightly. "Amta ame, sen daralis beleth, rest." The familiar and unknown voice whispered, then pressed a tender kiss into Harry's shoulder. He sighed. "Amta kalei, I am here and will guard your dreams. Rest."

Harry woke at peace and relaxed as though he'd really had a deep and fulfilling massage. His dream lover was wonderful and seemed to know always, just what he needed. If only he understood why and how the dreams were happening. There was no use in worrying himself about it. He'd enjoy them while they lasted, and they were certainly a welcome reprieve from the pressures of the waking world. He checked the clock and was surprised to see he'd slept longer than he thought. Already he'd missed dinner. It was just as well, he wasn't sure that he was ready to face Etienne or anyone else just yet. He pulled on a pair of pyjama style pants and a loose tunic and decided he'd write to his friends before they started to fret. He'd promised to be in regular contact after all, and with all that's happened he hadn't really a chance to worry about his correspondence. Tomorrow was another day and he could work out his feelings and the mess he'd landed himself in then.

His desk was stocked with a number of bright inks and fine parchment, so he took the quill from its holder and puzzled over what to say.

Dear Hermione, I'm sort of engaged to Draco Malfoy who is the lord of vampires, would not go over well. And he'd already been warned that though he was welcome to contact whomever he wished, the need to protect the secrets of the Kindred was paramount.

He settled on a brief note that hopefully would assuage any of Hermione's irrational fears. For a woman with two children of her own, it amazed Harry that she was still after him like a hen with one chick.

_Dear Hermione, _

_I have arrived safely, though I think I've had my fill of muggle transportation, well, air travel, in any event. I've met some interesting people so far and the artwork and architecture I've seen is quite beautiful. It's like nothing I've seen before. _

Harry brushed the end of his quill against his lip. It was important to let them know he was not staying at the hotel where he'd made reservations but he couldn't say anything about his actual location. After a few more minutes of mentally reworking his composition he settled on:

_One of the people I've met, Marjeta, insisted the hotel in Prague was not for me so following her recommendation I'm staying with her people in the Český ráj. I expect I'll do some hiking. It's very lovely here. I am eating quite well, be sure to share that with Ron who will be wildly jealous. I've attended a local festival, there are a few more scheduled and I hope I will enjoy them as much as I did this last. I've never heard such beautiful and touching music. I truly felt transported somewhere otherworldly during the concert. _

_I'm sure you'd find it all rather fascinating. I find too that I am learning some things about myself that aren't exactly welcome _

_discoveries. I've had cause to think and question the rigidness of my beliefs, my perceptions. Perhaps I'm coming more fully into adulthood, and am no longer content to assume that I alone can judge others based on my feelings of right and wrong, that people and their circumstances are more complex than I've given them credit for, and I shouldn't rush to judgement. Sorry, I don't mean to be maudlin or overly philosophical, it's just that I'm finding things I thought were absolutes about me and other people might not be as true as I once thought. Do all holidays invite introspective analysis? Maybe I'll leave off solitary walks and philosophical musings. _

_In any case, give Ron, Roselyn, and Danny my best. I love you all and will write again soon._

_Harry_

_P.S. This is Ulrike; she's an Ural owl capable of going longer distances than Hedwig. Encourage them to get along will you. They're both a bit possessive of me, but I have high hopes they'll become friends. You should send your reply with Ulrike by the way, since she knows exactly how to find me._

Harry sighed as he read over the brief letter. It wasn't too revealing, but conveyed enough to assure Hermione that he was actually on holiday not caught up in some strange Kindred mating ritual.

His thoughts about his changing perspectives surprised him, but it was good to at least mention it to his friend. He hadn't realised that he felt so strongly about the changes in him until he'd scribbled them down, but what he'd written felt right. He was undergoing a change in perspective. What it would mean in terms of Draco Malfoy and the Amoraj he wasn't certain yet, but he was comfortable with at least questioning himself and committed to facing the answers he discovered.

A knock at the door, startled him out of his thoughts and he frowned. Just because he was willing to accept the possibility of the Kindred lord Elly and Etienne described, did not mean he was ready to get into with Etienne again right at this moment. He still hadn't worked through his feelings of betrayal when Etienne used Mesmerism on him.

Huffily he stalked to the door and flung it open, "Etienne, I am--oh. Um-you're not Etienne."

The Kindred High Lord's blond brow perked in amusement, he chuckled lightly, "Not quite, no." After a few moments of tense silence, he spoke again, "May I come in, Intended Raure?"

Harry blinked and pulled the door open wider, still too shocked to do more than act the host on auto-pilot. "Um-er-would you like something to drink?" He offered awkwardly.

The blond Kindred shook his head, a half-grin still on his face as he draped himself on a chair in the sitting room, long shapely legs encased in finely tooled dragonhide breeches stretched before him. "No, thank you. I won't be staying long. I don't want to take up too much of your time, Intended Raure. I just needed to see for myself that you were well. You left so abruptly this morning, and I haven't heard from your guide whether you were alright or not."

Harry scuffed the ground with his toe, not wanting to explain the discord between he and Etienne. It was awkward enough that Draco Malfoy was in his sitting room being civil, no being genuinely solicitous, to use a ten galleon word. Though he'd made mention of it in his letter to Hermione, he realised that his world was truly tilting violently on his axis and he wasn't sure how well that boded for him. Dizzied by the realisation he sat heavily in the armchair opposite his one-time rival, feeling wholly out of his depth.

"M-Dra-Lord Draconis," he stammered, remembering at last to use the Draco's title. "I-I'm fine now, thanks. I just--" Harry paused, how to explain? "I left this morning because…" _I realised you were the boy who tormented me for seven years and I hate you beyond reasoning, or I thought I did…do… No, that's not the response that's going to work here. _ "I was a little overwhelmed by everything," he said weakly settling for something that was not quite the truth, but not a lie either.

Draco smiled genuinely and Harry's breath caught. The High Lord was truly a beautiful creature when he smiled. "I thought as much. I'm sorry, Raure. I know how disorienting it can be, being thrown into a culture you have no experience with and being expected to suddenly acquiesce to their way of doing things." Draco grew solemn, "I will do my best to make the transition easier for you, but in some things even my hands are tied. I hope though that if you have any concerns, or if something makes you uncomfortable that you'll confide in your guide. Etienne is one of our very best. He will take care of you. This--the Amoraj, is meant to be an exciting and enjoyable time. It cannot be so if you're constantly feeling upended by it all. Things should settle down in a day or so, but if there's anything you need. Anything at all that I can do to help, don't hesitate to call on me, or pass a message through Etienne or one of the House servants."

Harry swallowed thickly, unable to express that it was this very geniality that was causing him trouble. Seeing honest kindness and care in the face of Draco Malfoy unsettled him deeply and insecurity plagued him. He wanted this well-meaning intruder gone so he could puzzle out his own feelings and attempt to reconcile the man he was coming to know with the boy he'd despised. It was becoming more clear that they were not one in the same.

Before Harry could make a further effort at the social niceties and politely excuse himself from Draco's company, the bells of The Citadel rung out in the early twilight. This was no pleasant chorus to mark the hour, or a welcoming call to the evening meal-the bells were jarring and discordant, and Harry was certain the angry pealing was a kind of alarm. His suspicions were confirmed as Draco swore violently then looked about the apartment expectantly.

"Raure," he said with no little urgency, "where are you guards?"

Harry looked at him blankly and shrugged. Etienne had mentioned guards once but as far as he knew, none were assigned to him. The High Lord cursed again and rising quickly from his seat; he clutched the cuff bracelet Harry noticed on his arrival. For long moments he was still, his attention drawn elsewhere, as though communing with an unseen presence. Long minutes later when his eyes cleared of the odd vacancy, regaining the glint of keen intelligence and burning with righteous anger, he turned to Harry explaining that he needed to go, "But I will not leave you unprotected," he said.

Scant moments later, before Harry could argue that he was quite capable of defending himself, there was a firm knock on the door. Draco bid the visitors enter and two tall and heavily muscled men, armed with curious looking blades, stepped into the room.

"Hunters," Draco said without any preliminary greeting. "You will guard Intended Raure, no harm is to come to him, make for the tunnels if needs be," he finished with firm authority.

"Raure," he said to Harry, "this is Tristan," motioning at the green-eyed, brown haired man standing to the left of Harry's door, "and Akil," briefly introducing the caramel skinned man whose dreadlocks were woven in an intricate pattern ending in a long braid. "You _will_ stay here," said the obdurate lord when Harry made a slight sound to protest the protection offered. "These are two of my finest and will keep you safe," he added reassuringly. With that Draco left the room, gone before Harry could really even register his movements beyond the shift in air.

Harry's impression was that the two were indeed fierce and skilled warriors, but he still chafed at the thought that he needed keepers, nor did he think he should be sequestered, if there was trouble he should be allowed to help.

Obviously, his facial expressions broadcasted his resentment as Akil took it upon himself to explain while Tristan made a security circuit of Harry's suite. "All Intended and Honoured are being guarded so. There is no need to be disgruntled at being excluded from the defence of The Citadel. You are a guest of the Clan, placing you in danger is not an option. And no matter you skills Intended Raure," he said patiently, kindly but without condescension, "You are not prepared to meet the threat posed by Hunters. You are not trained, and they are stronger and wilier than you might think. Though they are your kind, they would not spare you; wizard or no, you are guilty by association in their eyes. They kill indiscriminately, and because of the potions and spells they use to approximate Kindred abilities, you would be no match for their strength and speed."

Harry nodded at the Kindred guard's explanation, thinking it all over. Having no knowledge of these Hunters and seeing the sense in keeping out of the conflict until he understood more fully he settled down to wait.

Draco arrived at the Kynaston battlements where Marjeta was waiting.

"Report," he barked as he reached the Castellan.

Marjeta, dressed in tight-fitting dragonhide battle wear, bowed her head briefly in acknowledgement of her liege. "Early reports from the guard say it is a force of at least forty Hunters. They've made their way through the lowest levels of the city." She shook her head, "It's a massacre in the Lower Gardens, Draco, and they've employed shields impervious to most of our magic; with the enhancement potions the guards are having a difficult time containing them." She sighed, "You know they're going through the gardens to use the hidden terraces to get to The Kynaston."

Draco frowned, "Obviously, and those paths are secret to all but The Citadel guards, the heads of the Houses, Clan Chiefs, and my staff, which means they've had high-placed help in planning their attack and breaching the wards." He growled in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He came to a quick decision. "You know what to do, Marjeta. At all costs they must not enter The Kynaston. You will see to the keep's defences. If we cannot hold them at the gardens begin the evacuation of the Houses through the tunnels into The Kynaston. Captain Nicodemus is with squads in the gardens yes?"

Marjeta nodded. "You're going to join him."

Draco smirked, "Of course," he said, a bit of his old cockiness shading his response. "Our people will take heart knowing I'm with them on the lines." Draco turned to the six remaining members of his personal guard. "You are with me. We will force them out and kill them, or die in the effort. We will not suffer the Hunter's terror."

He'd excused himself from the sitting room to retreat to his bedroom terrace, unnerved by his silent and intimidating guards. From there he could smell fire and saw the orange glow of burning in the distance. Terror rent the calm night, and as the screaming grew louder Harry itched to throw himself into the melee. He'd never been one to stand idly by when people were in danger. Yet he knew he'd be of little help. Tristan and Akil had warned him about the Hunters. It galled him that he was sitting safe when innocents were being attacked, but there was nothing he could do. For now he would content himself to watch and wait. But perhaps he didn't have to wait so very far away. Moving quickly and quietly, Harry went to his pack and shrugged on his invisibility cloak. Since the war he carried it wherever he went, and once again it was going to come in handy.

He focussed on the high wall closest to the bright glow and Apparated. He would stay hidden, stay safe as he'd been bid, but maybe he could still help from his perch on the battlements. The narrow walkway where he'd landed was well sheltered by The Kynaston's outer wall and following the flashes of light he assumed were curses and hexes, he could make out the battle a bit better. He was still too far away to see much though and frustrated he pointed his wand toward his face. "Otus occulus," he whispered, and was at once relieved and horrified that the hawk-vision spell had worked so well, as he could now see in crisp detail the way the hunters slaughtered the fancifully dressed Kindred in their way. Obviously, there'd been some kind of party or festive gathering earlier that evening, and now people who just hours before had been enjoying the company of their friends and family were being gruesomely cut down.

The carnage at first captured his attention, his eyes moving back and forth between altercations with hunters and Kindred intent on defending themselves, claws and fangs descended. The light of all-too familiar spells, used frequently by Death Eaters flashed against battered personal shields as Kindred tried to make their way to safety. But when his eyes fell on Draco, he was riveted. Surrounded by fighters that had the look of guards, he was a brilliant swirl of fury. Spinning with blades, the likes of which Harry had never seen, they were long knives perhaps, that reflected the light of the dangerous spells. Swinging and twirling away from the cast hexes, into an opponent here, slashing the chest of an attacker there. Harry watched fascinated as one of those brilliant blades took the wand hand of a hunter intent on a cornered mother and child, watched as he spared them a small smile a d a few hasty words of comfort then sped them away, under the protection of another of his guardsmen. He was terrifying, fierce, and beautiful, covered as he was in gore and glistening sweat. And in that moment, fighting for the lives of his people, Harry began to understand why the Kindred followed High Lord Draconis.

Harry started at a sharp noise behind him; a watchman was approaching the stranger on the battlement. He turned back for one last quick look at the battle which seemed to be turning to favour the Kindred, and gasped in horror as Draco was hit by a vicious slashing hex. Without thought to his own safety, or pause to question why he was so frightened at the thought of his host's injury, Harry Apparated to the High Lord's side with a loud crack.

"Dra-Lord Draconis, can you stand?" He asked worriedly, pressing his hand against the worst of the wound. You there, press your hands against this, he's losing blood rapidly!" Harry shouted at a shocked guardsman, who hurried to do the frantic man's bidding. In a trice Harry had his shirt off and was bundling the cloth against the gaping laceration. He pulled one of the beautiful knives from Draco's limp hand and sliced away a length of tunic to secure the makeshift bandage, ignoring his patient's grumbling. When he'd finished he sat back on his haunches satisfied the bandage would hold until the High Lord could receive proper medical treatment. He'd been so focussed he hadn't noticed that the remaining Guardsmen had set up a perimeter around their fallen liege, but clarity soon returned to both patient and healer.

"Raure?" the High Lord blinked as Harry's presence on the battleground fully registered.

"You little fool! What in Hades name do you think you're doing?" The Kindred lord hissed, his eyes glowing with an eerie silver luminescence, reminding Harry of DADA lectures on vampires, dark primal creatures of incredible raw power and strength. He flinched away recognising that this being was indeed dangerous.

"I-you-you needed help," he said weakly.

"Idiot!" Draco growled. Before Harry could respond, or he could say another word, they were again under attack, another Hunter rapidly cast hexes at them. In one swift and graceful movement, Draco dodged a curse, pushed Harry to the ground, and flung one of his knives into their attacker's chest, bringing the Hunter down.

"Stay down!" He ordered, in their moment's reprieve.

Harry having the idea that perhaps he'd once again acted rashly, complied, but he wasn't down for long. What seemed like mere moments later the all-clear was given and the guardsmen were retreating, carrying the wounded away from the devastated gardens. Harry was roughly pulled up from the ground and found himself staring into Draco's fury-filled eyes. "I have no idea what you thought you would accomplish by making such a target of yourself. I fully expect that we will speak on your recklessly dangerous actions later, Raure" he snarled. "For now Thayure and Aidan will take you to the Healing Hall. Make sure he is checked over thoroughly. Do _not_, let him leave until Tristan and Akil have arrived to escort him back to The Kynaston," he said, turning his attention to his personal guards.

Harry crossed his arms, knowing full well, now was not the time for a confrontation, but he'd be damned if he were going to be bundled off for a scolding like some recalcitrant child. "I'm not going."

Draco's head whipped around, a dangerously incredulous look on his face, "What did you say?" He asked lowly, each word spoken precisely around pearly descended fangs, and sparked with anger.

_I don't believe this! There's nothing wrong with me. He's the one who's hurt. And that's just…for once Draco Malfoy actually has an injury serious enough to warrant a complaint and medical attention and he's not running off to have it treated, or whinging about the pain. _

Harry looked again at Draco's side. The hex had to have been very powerful to cut through reinforced dragonhide like it had. He cringed at the tattered edges of the bloodstained hide, knowing it must be a very painful injury. Suddenly, he felt very ashamed of his earlier thoughts.

_I have to get a handle on this. He's not a spoilt child playing up his hurts to get attention anymore. If I can't give him the benefit of the doubt, then I have to at least try to respond to how he's acting, not react to how I think he'll behave because of how he was at Hogwarts. And for now, he's acting like one of my _favourite_ types of patients, the too stubborn and too proud to admit they're hurting kind. _

Harry swallowed thickly, reminding himself that he'd squared off against more powerful beings in his life; he wasn't about to be cowed by Draco Malfoy on an authority-trip. "I'm sure you heard me. I _am not _going to the Healing Hall," he tipped up his chin in defiance, "Not unless you're going, and have your own wound tended."

"_I _am fine," the blond replied smoothly, though anger still tinged his tone.

Harry snorted, "Like hell you're fine. I saw that slashing hex hit you."

Draco's brow rose nearly to his hairline, "Intended Raure, I will not be gainsaid in this. You _will_ go to the Healing House and be attended to. Now."

Harry nodded, "Fine then, let's go." He grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him toward a pathway he thought led out of the gardens.

They'd gone a few steps, Draco carried along by his disbelief, when he snatched his arm away. "What are you doing?"

Harry frowned, "I know your type. You'll go about with that gash until you collapse from blood loss or infection. I am _not _hurt, but since you're making such a fuss about my well-being. I thought I'd return the favour. You'll have the wound treated _now_."

To Harry's surprise, Draco barked out a laugh. "You are unbelievable Raure." He shook his head bemusedly, even as he cast a brief eye over the mayhem. "Fine then," he sighed, "We will both go to the Healing Hall. But for now, since you say you are well enough to wait to be attended," his expression turned stony, "you will stay here."

The Kindred lord stalked off, and Harry waited a while as he conferred with the remaining guard about transporting the wounded and clearing the gardens. Harry had wanted to help with triage for those more seriously injured, but judging by the looks he'd received from his newly appointed guardians, moving from the protective space where Draco had left him would be a bad idea.

When Draco returned they headed for the Healing Hall, two guards at their back, two leading, and one at either side. Harry was surprised that they didn't just Apparate there, but it seemed all who sought medical attention were travelling to the healers by foot, as he noticed several stretchers floating by as they made their way slowly to the upper levels of the city. He was curious enough to ask though when he realised that not all of the stretchers, or those well enough to walk, were travelling the same path.

"Why doesn't everyone go to the Healing Hall?"

"Only those who've been very seriously hurt, or who live in The Kynaston will go to the Healing Hall. House healers will tend the others," Draco said quietly, he was holding is side and breathing more heavily as they climbed, Harry noticed.

"We should Apparate you there," Harry frowned at the slow moving High Lord, "You're not doing yourself any favours by aggravating that wound walking."

"Defensive Anti-Portkey and Anti-Apparation wards," he answered, short of breath. "Went up as soon as the alarm sounded. Won't come down until I can reset them. As for the other," He turned to Harry with a bit of a smile and determined eyes, peering at him as though he could, with a direct enough gaze, actually see him, "I walk, Raure, because my people need to see that I can."

Understanding this, the need of a people for a tangible symbol of survival and success, and strength in their leadership, Harry said nothing more as they moved steadily toward the Healing Hall, his question about why _he'd_ been able to Apparate to the Lower Gardens lost in the sounds of grief and fear that were their processional, and his thoughts about the man beside him.

Tbc…

**A/N 2:** I still won't be updating as regularly as I did with the earlier chapters, but the wait won't be as long for the next chapter. I think I've gotten over the block. You got comments? Criticisms? Review!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and co. all belong to J.K. Rowling and her associates and representatives.

**A/N: **Umm….do you smell that? Yes it's my pants burning. Now that someone's lit a fire under my butt I'll be getting updates out sooner. **My deep thanks to RDWind for the beta **(trust me this chapter is much much much better for having been beta'd) And my thanks to everyone who's written and encouraged me to update this story, your continued interest is really touching. I appreciate it.

**8.**

The Healing Hall, like all the other structures he'd seen in The Citadel was an architectural marvel of high sweeping arches and detailed stonework, but Harry didn't spare too much attention to the hall's beauty as the numbers of wounded Kindred registered. Draco had been carried away by a set of healers almost as soon as they'd crossed the threshold and Harry was led to a bed to be examined. It rankled as he knew there was absolutely nothing wrong and the healer who was clucking over him could put her skills to use elsewhere, as could he for that matter. In light of his stern-faced guardians, however, Harry thought it best to hold his tongue for the moment. He endured the examination: although he found himself distracted by his professional fascination in the differences between Wizarding and Kindred healing. Kindred did not use wands of course, but Harry found that some of the hand motions were quite similar, and unfortunately, so were the use of potions. He grimaced when she handed over an opaque violet potion he knew to be a rather common, foul-tasting restorative.

"Oh come now, it's not that bad," the healer coaxed when he balked at the potion.

"Oh yes it is, anything with restacusus bile as a base is going to taste awful," he knocked it back and screwed up his face as the taste lingered. "Blergh! May I have some water?"

She poured him a glass and then another when he'd finished the first. "You're quite knowledgeable about medicinal potions," she said as she swallowed the last of the cool liquid.

"I'm a healer too," he answered once the healer pronounced him fit, then offered his services.

"Really, I work at St. Mungo's in London. I can help."

She paused and took a look around the large ward. Every bed was occupied and it was obvious that there weren't enough people in pale green healer's robes to see to everyone.

"Alright," she nodded finally. She pointed to a shorter man in conference with a few healers in the far corner. "Healer Zoboi is the Hall's emergency coordinator. Tell him Davida has cleared you to assist. He'll tell you where you can best help."

A few minutes later, Harry, with Thayure and Aidan in tow, met with Healer Zoboi, who assigned him to a station of six beds where he was to treat "light" injuries since Harry wasn't especially knowledgeable about Kindred physiology and magic. He grimaced as he examined another patient with a slashing hex wound that ran the length of her leg. If these were light injuries he wasn't sure he wanted to know what the healers tending to the more seriously wounded faced. He cleaned the wound and applied a solution to staunch the bleeding and close the laceration then turned to take a strengthening potion from his cart. After treating several such wounds Harry knew the ugly gash would fade to nothing within an hour or so with a little boost to his patient's natural healing capacity. He was very impressed by the Kindred's rejuvenative abilities. Unfortunately there were no more phials of strengthening potion on his cart. "Just rest here Ms. Lijepa, I need to get you another potion. I'll be right back."

The Kindred smiled wearily, "I told you, call me Jadviga, Healer Raure."

Harry frowned slightly at the moniker, a reminder of why he was there and who he was to these people. "Right," he sighed, pulling his hand through his hair. "I'll be back shortly _Jadviga_, rest in the meantime."

Harry settled her in the bed, elevating her wounded leg, then asked a passing healer how to restock his cart. Akil and Tristan had silently relieved Thayure and Aidan at some point while he was busy with injuries and flanking him in a manner reminiscent of Crabbe and Goyle they accompanied out of the ward.

Harry moved quickly down the hallway to the storeroom where the potions were kept. He supposed he could've sent someone, but honestly he needed a break to stretch his legs a bit. He also needed time to think about all he'd seen and learned, but that was an indulgence that would have to wait. He passed a partially open door and seeing movement inside, he paused, curious because as far as he knew everyone with business in the Healing Hall was busy in the main ward. He peeked his head in and gasped at what he saw.

Laid out indecorously on the floor were at least thirty bodies. Men and women he recognised as city guards by their uniforms, crouched beside the mostly mangled bodies placing various items they collected from the dead in baskets. Harry was snapped out of his shock when one of the guards broke the blade from the hilt of an ornately carved dagger, tossing the blade in one basket and the hilt in another. Thinking the worst, Harry backed away in disgust and turned, colliding painfully with Tristan's hard chest.

"Come away Raure, you weren't meant to see that," he said sympathetically once Harry regained his balance.

Harry snatched his arm out of Tristan's steadying grip. "Those people, I know they attacked innocents, but they've been ravaged beyond just defence. It's wrong to desecrate their bodies and steal from them." Harry shook his head. "Once, I've finished helping tend the wounded, I'm gone. Grave robbers make me sick," he sneered at the guardsman.

Tristan's jaw twitched, in anger or irritation Harry couldn't tell. "Not that it is any business of yours," he grit out finally, "but they are collecting valuables and identifying possessions of the hunters. We keep the weapons to examine for poisons or harmful magics, but the rest--the contents of those baskets you saw, will be bundled and sent to the Dark Creatures Control Department at the International Confederation of Wizards headquarters," he spat the last out hatefully.

Harry bit his lip, it seemed yet again that he'd gone jumping to conclusions and made an arse of himself. Silently vowing that he'd break that habit he considered Tristan's words. His eyes narrowed as the implications sunk in. "The ICW? They sanction attacks like this? On innocent people?"

Tristan snorted, "Of course. The world's ministries agree on very little, but something they can all rally around is the destruction of so-called Dark creatures. Hunters are licensed through the ICW and they pay the bounties. Hunters are very much like Aurors, but with fewer restrictions as they report to no authority."

"But why?" Harry waved abstractly at the busy city guards. The idea that a group of wizards had carte blanche to kill innocents was deeply disturbing, but so was the idea of their victims essentially looting dead bodies.

"They hate us, they fear us, they hunt us. But they, too, are children of Earth, Raure. Some must have families or friends they've left behind. Those families deserve to know what happened to the people they loved and have something of theirs to bury or remember them by."

Harry recalled the "clean-up" Auror teams. He'd never been around to see what they did and no one really talked about it, but he was sure they did something very similar. Suddenly feeling quite embarrassed by his disparaging assumptions, especially about a people who so obviously valued honour and principle, Harry nodded and allowed Tristan to lead him away to the stockroom. On their return, cart laden with healing potions, Harry cringed as they passed the makeshift morgue and he heard Draco give the order to burn the bodies of the dead hunters, his voice hard and chilling in a way that reminded him very much of Lucius Malfoy. So very different from the warm and calming confidence and concern, he'd heard earlier as a healed Draco had made his way through the wounded, encouraging his people's healing and recovery.

It was yet another facet of the Kindred's High Lord.

_This is a face I recognise, one I expected of him. It's unsettling, but I can't fault him for it. I understand this cold rage. They came and attacked his people, his city. Innocent people are dead. _

Harry shook off his thoughts and returned to the main ward. He dosed his waiting patient with strengthening potion and turned his attention to another victim of the attack.

"Merlin, these burns are vicious," he said gently lifting a fall of scorched hair from the woman's shoulder to reveal further damage. "I'm sorry, I'll be as careful as I can," he said softly as she whimpered with the movement. "I know it hurts. I'm going to help you."

Harry pulled his wand and cast a gentle cleansing spell. It was chancy, but with so much tissue damage it really was the best option, as the ash, debris and blood covering the woman's fragile skin posed a greater risk than his magic. When he was satisfied he coaxed a pain reliever down her ruined throat. "That should help with the pain. Can you tell me your name?"

"--ti"

Harry frowned at the soft sound that escaped her peeling lips. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you properly. Tell me again."

"S-ru," she tried again barely forcing the sounds through her mouth.

Akil looked down at Harry's patient and clasped his elbow as he bent down to speak quietly into Harry's ear. "Her name is Surthi, Intended Raure. She is the Lady of House Tipu."

Harry absently nodded his thanks, all his attention on the burned woman in the bed. "Right, Akil here says your name is Suruthi." He smiled faintly at the relief he say in her eyes. "I'm Ha…er…Healer Raure. I'm going to take care of you Lady Suruthi, but I have to be honest your injuries are worse than what I've treated today so I want to bring a Kindred healer over here to consult alright?" Harry turned to his guards and asked them to call over another healer while he set about making Suruthi comfortable and healing her injuries as best as he could.

Akil returned saying a Kindred healer was on the way, but it would be quite some time yet. Harry frowned, the potions were helping and Suruthi was healing, but much slower in comparison to what Harry had seen in his other Kindred patients and that worried him. Did she have some underlying illness that kept her abilities from surfacing? He wished the Kindred healer would hurry up. He thought of how he'd proceed if she'd been a witch in his care and decided having a fuller medical history from someone who knew her would be useful.

"Akil, you say she's Lady of House Tipu, I'm assuming she's well known then. Are any of her family or friends here? I need to ask some questions to find out why she's not responding to the potions like she should."

Akil thought a moment, "I have not seen any members of her family Intended Raure, but it is a simple matter of sending for them." He bowed to the stricken woman listening to the exchange. "I will have your husband brought immediately Lady Suruthi."

Harry was taken aback as fear filled his patient's eyes and shot out his hand to Akil's arm. "Wait," he ordered. He turned back to Suruthi and studied her face. "You don't want your husband here do you?"

Her marred faced screwed into a grimace as she tried to speak. Harry shook his head, and helped her swallow, another potion. "Easy, just relax. There's no hurry."

He dabbed some salve around her right eye giving the potion time to work. "It's alright," Harry soothed. "Give yourself some time. You inhaled a lot of smoke. There's maybe more I could do for your throat but I can't get your necklace off." He frowned at the object in question. He'd tried to remove it when he'd cut the charred remnants of Suruthi's sari and choli away but he'd been foiled by what he assumed was a complex anti-theft charm.

" 'an 'ents"

Harry blinked as Suruthi forced the words from her abused throat.

" 'ease 'an m'rents" she tried again and Harry smiled. He knew it must be painful but that she'd managed to form a few words around her swollen mouth was a very good sign.

"Your parents?" He smiled again at her nearly imperceptible nod. "Alright Suruthi, we can do that." He looked up at Akil. "We can right?"

Akil smirked amusedly but nodded. "Yes, we'll send a messenger to the Sahas right away." He looked down at the injured woman, "Rest and heal Lady Suruthi. Your family will be here soon. I--" Akil stopped as he caught a better look at the troublesome necklace cutting into the ruined skin of her throat. "That--that's…did Lord Prakash do that to you?" He demanded, his promise of a swift messenger forgotten as he searched out an answer in her tear-filled eyes.

"Abomination," he spat then turned to the curtain that'd been erected around the Lady's bed. "I will send for the Castellan as well Lady Suruthi," he hissed before slipping around the white partition.

His confusion at the exchange evident, Harry gently patted Suruthi's left hand, as she'd only been burned along her right side. "Well, I don't understand any of what that was about, but I'm sure Akil and Tristan will do right by you. They're right solid blokes. Now let's see what more I can do for those burns and hopefully you'll have healed enough to speak to your parents when they come." He reached for some wide-weave gauze he'd set to soaking in healing and restoration potion and laid it over the greater burns on her torso and thigh. "And when that other healer gets here hopefully we'll be able to find a way to help you heal faster."

When he'd finished, he cast a spell to darken the makeshift cubicle so Suruthi could rest as much and as comfortably as possible, then stepped beyond the partition and cast a questioning look at his returned guards. "So…uh I suppose it's more than just an anti-theft charm on that necklace then?"

Akil snorted as Tristan answered, "It' is keyed to the control of her husband. It restricts her movements and speech in keeping with his directives."

Harry was aghast. "That's-it's like an Imperius collar? No wonder she doesn't want him here! That's--"

"An abomination," Akil interrupted, snarling. "Lord Prakash will be made to pay for this outrage against Lady Suruthi!"

Harry stepped back at the Kindred warrior's flaring vehemence just as Tristan leaned forward and placed his hand on his comrade's arm. He caught Akil's gleaming eyes and spoke quietly, so softly in fact that Harry only knew words were passed because Tristan's lips moved.

After a few moments the tension and sparking anger ran from Akil's set shoulders and eerily bright eyes. And Harry was surprised when the dark-skinned guard turned to him with an apology on his lips. "My outburst was unseemly Intended Raure," Akil explained further when Harry brushed off his apology.

"I'm all for 'unseemly outbursts' when someone's been victimised, Akil," Harry shrugged. "Really, I don't think you have anything to apologise for, but you have my pardon if you really feel you want it."

The tall warrior bowed slightly and Harry decided do a quick round of his station while waiting for the healer Akil had sent for earlier. The rotation of healed, healing, and waiting to come through his temporary six-bed ward had been heavier than he'd initially expected. On this round he figured a couple he could discharge altogether, one who would be moved to quieter private wards until they recovered, and there were still one or two who were waiting to be tended.

Akil made the rounds with him, proving a very able assistant, while Tristan remained outside the lady's cubicle. Now that Harry knew the choker's true purpose he deemed she needed a guard in case her husband appeared. When another healer finally showed, Harry led him to the Lady's bedside and a quick examination proved what he'd began to suspect when Akil told him more of the necklace's properties, though newly affixed, the collar was impeding Lady Suruthi's natural abilities.

He scraped his hands through his hair, frustrated, "Well, then we need to get it off!"

"Not such an easy thing to accomplish, Intended Raure," the healer said sadly. "It will only respond to the one who placed it around her neck. I very much doubt Lord Prakash will be eager to do so now that the necklace has been revealed for what it is. Use of these disgusting collars is against our laws and he will not wish to be exposed."

"Don't tell me what we can't do. I want to know what's possible to help her. There's got to be something!" Harry glared at the offending jewellery.

The healer sighed, "I'm afraid not, we can only try to counter the effects." He leaned over and inspected the stones embedded in the choker. "I--"

"And you're sure of this Akil?" They heard from just beyond the bed. "Well let us through, we will see this abhorrence for ourselves." A man and woman of indeterminate age stepped around the partition and nodded to both Harry and the other healer.

"I am Anupama Saha, this is my husband Prasad," the rumpled woman introduced, she and her husband were both wearing finely embroidered ensembles dirtied by soot, and smelled heavily of smoke. They'd obviously been caught in the attack, but were among the lucky few uninjured. "Akil says our daughter was hurt tonight and that she has been _collared_." She said the last with such fiery hatred that Harry almost looked to see if the loathsome necklace had been burned away.

Instead, he stepped forward. "What Akil said is true. I'm Healer Raure, this is Healer Coege. The necklace--"

"Collar," Suruthi's father interrupted. "Call the foul thing what it is."

"The collar," Harry corrected, "is interfering with her ability to heal herself. It's tied to her husband so we can't take it off."

As Harry explained, Anupama had seated herself beside her daughter and was stroking her head gently. Murmuring reassurances as she looked over the choker, her quick mind working furiously for a solution. "Prasad, ame, look at this, what do you think? Carnelian?"

Her husband stepped around the healers and peered at the collar from over his wife's shoulder. "Don't fret Suruthi, Amma and Baba are here. We will fix this. I promise." He held his daughter's eyes with warmth and strength. "Yes Anu, carnelian, and peridot as well, maybe snowflake obsidian too, that will defend her against the more insidious psychic effects of the collar."

He turned to Harry and Healer Coege, "Can you loosen the collar at all?"

Harry grimaced, he'd made an attempt earlier and the damn thing had only tightened around Lady Suruthi's neck. He shook his head. "No, and I don't want to risk trying again. If it tightens further she could have problems breathing. I won't endanger her like that."

Prasad met Harry's eyes then looked him over, assessing, cataloguing. "You are not Kindred."

"No, I'm not," Harry crossed his arms over his chest, in no mood for any xenophobic nonsense. "Does it matter? I'm a healer who's trying to help your daughter."

"It does not," Prasad said firmly, extending his hand. "We welcome your aide."

Harry shook the offered hand, and gestured toward the bed where Anupama was still whispering and comforting her child. "Your wife mentioned peridot, you think a gem will help?"

"You know stones?"

Harry sighed, he didn't, it was yet another knowledge Etienne mentioned as being important to the magical world that he was lacking; when he returned home he was having a stern word or ten with a certain twinkly-eyed headmaster. "No, I'm afraid I don't. What can you tell us?" He motioned between himself and Healer Coege.

"We have seen such a thing before and worked our skills against it. You have noticed the gems set in the collar? They amplify the will of the collar's master. They are aligned with his aura and magic tuning the collar's spell to his directions. There are other stones that can reduce the effect, nothing to completely nullify the spell, only the master's hand or death can end the enchantment, but we will try."

Harry nodded his approval, interrupting the spell's effects and bolstering Lady Suruthi's regenerative strength even a little would make a great difference. "Right, let's do this then, what do you need and how can we help?"

Harry was captivated by the stone magic Prasad and Anupama used. He asked Healer Coege to check his other patients and watched the gemsmiths work, carefully noting the stones they used and what they were for. Carnelian for strength, peridot for healing and cleansing, and snowflake obsidian to purify Lady's Suruthi's auric field of negative influences and protect her psyche and personal will. It was fascinating, watching their swarthy hands sketch one symbol after another delicately over her skin infusing their daughter with the power of the stones they'd hurriedly sent for. Anupama explained that they'd also make amulets of the stones for Suruthi to wear that would refresh the properties she'd drawn into herself, to further her healing and protection.

Over an hour later and the Sahas were still chanting, the stones they'd chosen glowed in key spots on Lady Suruthi's body, and Harry was thrilled to see that the ritual magic was working, her skin was healing more quickly now, much faster than would a witch or wizard, though not as fast as healthy Kindred.

"Well hello, Intended Raure, I hadn't expected to see you here," a familiar voice said from his side and Harry jumped, so entranced by the bedside spellworking he hadn't noticed anyone else enter the cubicle, or maybe he wouldn't have noticed anyway, these Kindred moved rather stealthily.

"Marjeta! What are you doing here?"

"The same could be asked of you, Intended Raure," growled the High Lord as he stepped around the partition. "I thought you would return to your rooms once you'd been seen to."

Annoyed with his high-handed assumptions Harry huffed at Draco. "I am a healer, _Lord Draconis_, and my help is needed here. No way was I going to be chivvied off to my rooms when there's wounded who need my skills."

Harry thought he heard the Kindred lord mutter something about impertinence, or impossible, something, and he was about to launch into him when Marjeta stepped in, "So you say, and you have our thanks, Intended Raure. Now what is this about a control collar? Akil's message did not say too much."

His anger momentarily deflected, Harry launched into an explanation of Lady Suruthi's injuries and treatments. He was struck by the rising anger on the Kindreds' faces, such righteous fury he'd rarely seen, even at the height of the war. For a second Harry even considered pitying this Lord Prakash when Marjeta and Draco caught up to him. Harry then recalled the horrors of Imperius, one's will shackled to another, the simplest actions directed by another's hand, the loss of all control and autonomy, and decided their blazing fury would maybe just be punishment enough, maybe.

The cubicle had gotten very cramped with the additions so everyone but Anupama and Prasad were directed beyond the partition. He looked around the temporary ward and deciding it was far too open for such a sensitive discussion, Draco led the small ensemble into an empty storage room. "Alexandre, you and Thayure report to Captain Nicodemus, accompany one of his units to House Tipu and arrest Lord Prakash." Draco smirked maliciously, "Make sure the Lord Counsellor, and whomever may be around him, hears the charge quite clearly. Bring him to a holding cell and await word.

"Aidan, escort the Bhushan's children, Lakshmi and Vikram here to the Healing Hall, they'll want to see their mother, and Vikram is a hothead, I don't want him anywhere near his father when the arrest is made. He's likely to lash out before he thinks to ask questions." He waved his hand and the elite guards who'd been given orders left the room.

"Marjeta," he continued, "with all else that has happened I am loathe to ask, but I must know how Lord Prakash came by such a thing. You will handle his questioning personally. I trust you will find the answers I need. Especially, why now, the Bhushans are infamous for the even tenor of their marriage despite Lord Prakash's temper and their oft differing opinions. I find it highly suspect that he would go to such lengths to govern Lady Suruthi's tongue so close to the hunters' attack on The Citadel."

His advisor raised an eyebrow at this, "He has a temper to be sure, but he is also a traditionalist. Lord Prakash holds his duty to House, Clan, and Kindred sacred. You really think he would endanger all of us by--"

Draco raised a hand and the rest of her observation died in her throat. "I think there are no coincidences, Castellan. He dishonoured his wife, House, Clan, our people, and our traditions and laws with the use of the control collar." His voice echoed unyielding in the small room, "I would know what other crimes he sought to protect with Lady Suruthi's enforced silence. Learn his secrets and report to me at once."

Marjeta bowed and then she too took her leave, determined to find the truth and have justice for the Lady of House Tipu.

Draco then turned to those who remained. He stepped forward and grasped Raure's shoulders, at least he hoped, silently, that they were in fact Raure's shoulders. "And you," he began with a sigh, "whatever are we to do with you? How did you slip by Akil and Tristan? They are two of my best, or I wouldn't have entrusted you to their care."

Harry shrugged the hands off, "I Apparated," he said defiantly. "I used a spell to help me see what was happening during the attack, and when I saw you'd been hurt, I Apparated because I-I wanted to help…" Harry trailed off as Draco's jaw went slack.

"You…impossible. That's-- You can't have…Raure, _no one_, not even me can Apparate inside The Citadel once the wards are in place."

Harry's eyes widened as he remembered the High Lord having told him this as they walked to the Healing Hall. He'd forgotten in the rush that followed. "I-I don't know how I…," he said weakly. He shook his head, confused and unsettled by the implication that his innate power was enough to override an entire city's protections.

Draco tilted his head thoughtfully, "Great Mother, this is too much. We'll figure it out later Raure, for now, you must be dead on your feet." Squinting as though that would aid in his examination, he finally huffed in frustration and turned to his guard, "Tristan, be my eyes, what do you see?"

"He is tired, Abre Hir," the guard replied using the Lurèaldon form of Draco's title. "You can see it in his eyes, the way he holds his body…he has expended a great deal of magic and plied much of his skill tonight."

Harry bristled, "Now see here--"

Draco again grasped his shoulders, more gently this time, a request, rather than a demand. "Raure, Intended, we are all tired. Tristan does not slight you. Please, go to your suite, the other healers have things well in hand now."

Harry wasn't going to back down for a command from some muscle-bound mother-hen, but this easy prodding was something different, Draco's voice wrapped around him like a caress. The way he'd said, 'Intended' was thoughtful, personal, intimate; as though he'd said lover, or darling, or sweetheart instead, and meant it truly.

And well, he _was_ tired, now that he let himself think on it. He sighed, a bit petulant, "Fine."

The High Lord's smile was beatific. "Thank you." He stepped back with a bow. "Tristan and Akil will escort you, and remain to guard your door."

"I don't need a keeper, Dr-erm…Lord Draconis."

Harry was intrigued by the way the corner of Draco's mouth turned up slightly. "You made your way through some of the strongest and oldest wards known to magic-kind, Intended Raure, perhaps you do not need a 'keeper', per se, but it would make me feel better." He raised his hand and tilted his fingers forward, and before Harry knew it, Tristan had his large hand between his shoulder blades and was gently, but firmly ushering him out of the storeroom.

_Why that overbearing, presumptuous--whatever else his is, Draco Malfoy is still a git!_

Tbc…soon I promise! Don't forget to review!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: My deep thanks to rdwind for the thorough beta, and hand-holding, formatting, and all-round encouragement. All remaining errors are mine. **

**9.**

"Are you mad? What have you done?" Prakash screamed in the face of his fellow plotter. The Citadel had been breached by hunters – HUNTERS! And to his shame the Lord of House Tipu had not brought the ferocity and cunning of the tiger -- their House totem into battle. Instead, he'd left all of his family, his friends, and his Clan to face the danger alone, merging into the shadows and brought, like a dog, to heel at Barnabas' feet.

Barnabas wiped spittle from his face and looked on Prakash with disgust. "It was a necessary and calculated risk," he said with incredible condescension as though Prakash was a spectacularly dim-witted child. "The paltry number of Intended pushed things forward by an unacceptable degree. There would not be time to complete the ritual before the Choosing had I not orchestrated a significant delay. You must learn to see things more broadly, Lord Prakash, what are a few lives in consequence of the survival of all Kindred?" In his voice was thick, and it clung to the air and oozed over Prakash's skin. Like spoiled animal rendering, his timbre was gamey and rancid. The stench seemed to crawl up his nose and claw down his throat, nearly gagging him with foulness.

For the first time since Barnabas had approached him with his plan to overthrow Lord Draconis' rule, Prakash was afraid. He had admired his fellow Lord Counsellor's cunning and ambition, seen in him an answer to the erosion of Kindred values and traditions. But this? He was coming to realise Barnabas had no compunction to destroying any who crossed his path. No one was safe in his bid for power, _nothing _sacred. Prakash realised that he too was expendable in this reckoning. Perhaps he'd been wrong in throwing his support behind Barnabas, but it was too late now. All he could do was face the storm and pray the Great Mother gave him strength to weather it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After a fruitless search of House Tipu, Alexandre and Thayure relieved Akil and Tristan from their duty at Intended Raure's door. Tristan saw his long-time friend and comrade was still agitated by the night's revelations. He knew the crime against Lady Suruthi weighed heavily on the dark-skinned man's mind, and though he knew there was little he could say to comfort his friend, he could at least offer his companionship as support; so when Akil turned down the path into the city, Tristan followed.

He wasn't surprised when Akil's feet stopped before House Tipu. The city guards had been unable to find the House Lord, but it was unlikely Prakash would stay away from his home. And Akil would not, in good conscience, leave Lady Suruthi unguarded.

They made their way from through the sprawling doorway that lead into House Tipu's main courtyard. Like all the Houses of The Citadel, Tipu was built around great and smaller courtyards, and its great stone colonnades were carved with the same ornate scrolling relief that marked Kindred architecture, though interspersed were representations of fearsome tigers stalking through jungle foliage and served as bridges between upper-level homes. Overlooking the main atrium were balconies and windows from the apartments where Tipu's residents lived with their families, and several doorways that opened into the courtyard itself were hung with brightly coloured mirrored cotton torans, embroidered with family emblems and protective runes.

Akil and Tristan crossed the courtyard and passed under an archway to climb the stairs to the second level portico that led to the Sahas chambers. It was a short walk to their suites, as they'd long held a favoured position in Tipu and their balconies afforded them a view of the largest courtyard.

When Akil folded himself down in an alcove across from the Sahas apartments, Tristan sat beside him and placed his hand gently on the warrior's arm.

"Tell me," he said quietly. "You've spoken of her before, but..."

Akil nodded once, his eyes unfocused as his mind was pulled along the currents of memory.

_"Bibi-- watch me! Look Bibi!" A small Kindred child called to the women watching hawk-eyed as he jumped from post to post in the courtyard. Each post was a different height and width, and though meant as a tool for dancers training, they were a favoured pastime of children who dared each other to see who could leap the furthest and land without toppling into the chipped cedar and pine scattered below. _

_Akil was agile and bounded from post to post, landing each time to the applause of his adoring Bibi. "Wonderful Akil, very good!"_

_Now that he was sure of her attention, little Akil made his most daring move, with a great leap he'd turned a somersault in the air as he dismounted and landed firmly on his feet in the wood chips. His grandmother laughed and clapped delightedly as he made his way to her market-stand._

_"You spoil that boy, Veradis," he heard his grandfather say as he approached them. "He'll grow up to be a self-aggrandizing braggart with you constantly treating him like he's got something special the whole world should stop to see."_

_"Oh, but he does Kofi," she said, gathering the boy into her strong, sweet-smelling arms. "He has his Bibi's love. Don't you, liali?" _

_He giggled as she bussed his nose, "Yes, yes, Bibi."_

_"Always remember _love _makes you special, Akil. Love is a powerful magic."_

"My grandmother was an extraordinary woman," Akil said softly when the currents released him to the present.

"She always had a kind or encouraging word for everyone, and she supported me in everything I tried…believed in all my dreams." He absentmindedly twisted the thin gold band on his smallest finger as he spoke. Tristan had long thought the ring a keepsake from a lost lover, he now knew better.

"She was so proud when I was accepted to the City Guard. I wish she had lived to see me earn a place among the Elite." Akil's eyes flashed and his voice grew hard when he next spoke. "She was robbed of that chance, robbed of everything. Every ounce of her vitality, her bright tirelessness, and joviality. All of it was stolen away by that… abomination."

Tristan turned to his friend, "Your grandfather was--"

Akil snorted, "A self-important bastard of the highest order. Kofi Okonkwo was the Great Mother's finest gift to Kindred to hear him tell it. "He was a skilled tanner, to be truthful--he could turn the toughest hides butter soft with his talent. In that talent lay his conceit. Because honestly, no one could do better so his must be the best way for everything."

The warrior flipped his braid of dreadlocks over his shoulder with a sigh, "My father was such a disappointment to him, eschewing the family trade to become a warrior. Old Kofi told anyone who would listen that his firstborn son would meet a violent end. When the caravan my parents were guarding was attacked by hunters Kofi was proven right, something he never let me forget. Growing up, I must've heard a thousand times that my parents earned their fate by thumbing their noses at his good advice and steady trade. Bibi called his little tirades nonsense and raised me to honour my parents and their dedication to duty. She always said besides the Temple there was no higher calling than the protection of the Earth's children."

Akil thumbed the ring again watching it gleam in the torchlight reminding him of another golden ring, one far more nefarious. "My grandfather hated that Bibi would contradict him; hated that she held firm to her own opinions however much she loved him. So when a wizard peddler offered him a golden torque that promised to control Bibi he leapt at what he thought was the solution to all his problems with her wilfulness and _gifted _it to her."

"_But Bibi, I want to learn how to handle a sword like Ome, please can I go?_

"_Veradis! Is that boy pestering you about that weapons training again? Akil, what did I say about that foolishness? You'll come learn tanning from me and your uncle. Let's have no more of this warrior talk!"_

_Veradis Okonkwo's eyes flashed, "L-listen t-o your hear--" in the next moment that spark was gone, seemingly funnelled away by the now gleaming stones in the torque around her neck. "Listen to your grandfather, Akil. He has the right of things," she answered his pleas woodenly._

"_But Bibi--"_

"_Akil! What have I told you about that silly baby name? You'll stop that Bibi nonsense at once! Now come, we're leaving for the tannery!"_

_Young Akil sighed. "Yes, Grandfather," he called out but leaned into his grandmother with a hidden smile. "I'll see you later Bibi. I love you," he whispered. _

_His bright smile faded as she turned dull lifeless eyes to him. "I am your grandmother, Akil. Who is Bibi?"_

_Bleary-eyed Akil ran from the room, never seeing the pain on his beloved grandmother's face as she struggled in vain against the stones gleaming with malevolence, her own heart breaking as her grandson's shattered. _

"They just pulled more and more life from her, those stones. It seemed to me they grew more vibrant as she faded. And old Kofi, that fool, never realised that as they broke her resistance, bending her further to his will, that they _killed _greater parts of her spirit.

"In the end she was a brittle shell of the woman she'd been. When he thought her sufficiently cowed he removed the collar, but by then it was too late."

"_Grandmother?" the handsome dark-skinned man called out as he entered the darkened bedroom. _

"_There's no damned 'Grandmother' here, liali," she rasped in her now thin reedy voice, no trace of its once rich musicality remained. "But your Bibi wants very much to see you, Akil," she beckoned from the bed. _

_As he sat he took her frail hand between his strong weapons-calloused palms, "Grandfather sent for me Gra-Bibi. He said you were ailing. I-I know we haven't spoken much these last few years, but…"_

"_Hush now, liali. There's no need to explain. Too much hurt, too much sorrow, and all of it that _old buzzard's fault_." She coughed hard, clinging to him as her thin frame shook. Akil held her until the spasm passed then reached over for the glass of water at her bedside. _

_She took it with a sigh and a soft sad smile, "All these years I've been fighting Akil, trying so hard to get back to myself, so hard to reach you. I have seen you grown into such a tall, fine man, and in the deepest part of me I have always been so very proud." _

_She raised her hand to the paler ring flesh where the torque had once lain, eyes filling with tears. "That thing…such a horrible magic. It chained me. I was a slave to his will, couldn't speak my mind, couldn't keep hold of my own thoughts--it _corrupted _nearly every part of me Akil. I wish, by the Great Mother's hand, I wish I'd run screaming the first time I saw it. It made me…I said, and did, and thought things I never would on my own, but I want you to know that I never stopped loving you. Even as it stole my mind and my soul it could never steal my love. I love you so much my liali, and I always will. You remember that_._"_

_She leaned up tiredly and pressed her dry, chapped lips against his cheek. "Dance for me, Akil. When the fires burn, remember who I once was and leap for my life. Do you remember the game you played as boy on dancer's posts in the courtyard? So carefree then, full of life and joy, nothing could stop you. That is how you must live, Akil, and how you must honour me. You are my greatest joy. Dance that joy and sing my soul free to soar." _

_Veradis' voice took on strength, even as it broke with sorrow. "Keep making me and your parents proud. We are always with you Akil. You must know there is no greater calling-protect Earth's children-keep them from harm, from hunters, from soul stealers," she rubbed again at her neck roughly. "Soul-stealers, life-thieves," she murmured, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, already the burst of strength was spent. She leaned heavily on her grandson, "So tired, liali…stay with your old Bibi awhile so I can rest?"_

"_Of course," he laid her back gently and drew the counterpane to her shoulders. "Rest, Bibi. I love you."_

_She smiled at him again, softly, sweetly, and closed her wounded brown eyes. Veradis Okonkwo never opened them again. _

"Old Kofi succumbed to the Grief two days later. After we scattered their earth we lit the fires. And I danced Tristan," he met his friend's eyes, "as I never have since. I danced with the Earth's own power thrumming through me. And I sang, but only for her."

Akil clenched his fist against his thigh; blood seeping thought his tight fingers as anger forced his claws out. "I swore then I'd never let another woman suffer that fate.

"And by the gods, I will rip out Prakash's heart if he doesn't take that thing from Lady Suruthi's neck. _I swear it_. By the Great Mother, Tristan, I swear."

Despite his heartfelt vow however, Akil was at the end of the queue when it came to those seeking justice and answers from the Lord of House Tipu.

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"You must have great faith in our City Guards to be out for a stroll alone in the wake of an attack my Lord Counsellor." Marjeta stepped from the shadows of the great doorway to House Tipu's courtyard just as Lord Prakash stealthily made his way through.

This man bore little resemblance to the pompous blowhard she knew. This man was skittish, furtive, and could not meet her eyes. That mattered little to the Castellan; the guilt wafting from him was as foetid as his sweat.

"L-Lady Mar-Marjeta," he bowed sketchily, "I-I did not see you there. I--what are you doing here?" He asked finally in an attempt to regain his footing. "I-I'm surprised you were not in the gardens with the rest of us, assessing the damage and--and gathering remains," he added softly with true sorrow at the thought of the lives lost in the night.

"Oh, I was there for a while," she replied smoothly her voice sinuous and coiling, like a snake ready to strike. "Among other places. Odd that no one recalls seeing you anywhere I've been tonight."

Prakash cleared his throat, "Really? Oh, well, you know, there was mass confusion during the attack, and after…well…"

"Yes, afterwards…" her eyes narrowed. "Where were you then, my Lord Counsellor?" Her words were sharp, cutting, whip cracks in the dark silent night. "Where were you when Lady Suruthi was brought to the Healing Hall covered in burns? Where were you when your _wife _needed you? When your _son _and _daughter _learned of their mother's injuries? When your _House_, my _Lord Prakash_, needed leadership and guidance? The lower gardens?" She perked a brow as she drew closer, lilting sarcasm weighting her words. "No? The Kynaston, perhaps?"

He stepped back as though the minor distance would slow her attack.

"Or maybe…maybe the tunnels? Betraying all our kind to the hunters?" She shouted the last as he stumbled over his feet, landing hard on the courtyard's paving stones.

"Wh-what? N-no! I would never--"

Marjeta waved his protest aside. "Lord Prakash Bhushan of House Tipu," she called out clearly but coldly as lights came on around them and curious faces appeared in windows and doorways. "I charge you with the assault and endangerment of your wife, Lady Suruthi Bhushan, by use of a control collar; and with suspicion of treasonous collusion in the hunter's attack which took place this evening in the lower gardens. By order of the High Lord, you are under arrest."

With that pronouncement, five of the City Guard and Captain Nicodemus stepped out of the shadows. "You won't make it past all of us, Lord Prakash," Captain Nicodemus said as the lord's eyes shifted to the open doorway. "Come quietly," he ordered.

Looking around at the shocked and disparaging faces in the courtyard Prakash quickly weighed his options, he could go quietly the air of suspicion thick around him, or perhaps he could turn this to his favour in his bid to further discredit the High Lord. "I am innocent!" he cried out to the gathering Kindred. "See how the upstart lord deals with his detractors? Instead of putting forth the effort to bolster our security, and discover the traitors in our midst, he bullies the innocent into submission. His underhanded tactics are revealed! See how he attempts to malign my honour and sully my name! Will Tipu stand for such an outrage?"

Prakash glared defiantly between the Castellan and the Guard Captain certain that at any moment his House would rally in his defence, eject the interlopers, and keep him safe until the High Lord himself appeared with a summons. It would give him time he desperately needed to bolster his support and contact Barnabas.

But silence and disbelief met his challenge. Unknown to him, Lady Suruthi's injuries were well known in House Tipu, as was the cause of her slow recovery. He waited for a resounding response for one heartbeat, two, five…ten, at twelve Marjeta raised her hand and the guards surged forward binding Prakash with magic and rope, leading him away in disgrace.

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TBC…

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A/N: Liali (Lurèaldon): diminutive meaning child, or baby.

Bibi (Swahili): grandmother.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: Again, my deep and abiding thanks to rdwind for the thorough beta, and hand-holding, formatting, and all-round encouragement. She is amazing, and I am so very fortunate to have her along on this journey with me. All remaining errors are mine. **

**10. **

As Marjeta and the City Guards made their way to a holding cell in the Kynaston, Lord Draconis sat in his office beside the Governance Chamber reviewing the preliminary reports. Seventy-eight dead, over 150 Kindred injured, fifteen perhaps fatally. Six of his Kindred were already showing terminal signs of Soulmate's Grief. The Citadel had been well and truly betrayed by one of its own. He wiped the grit from his tired grey eyes and sighed heavily. The attack could not have come at a worse time, with the Council still in negotiations over Clan Izanami's new House, and the Amoraj having just begun. Now there would be investigations and trials to oversee, security details to examine and strengthen, evacuation plans to be revised, funeral fires to organise and attend, the gardens to rebuild... And Etienne had sent an urgent message that a major vision from the Seer's Tower was imminent and he needed to speak with Draco as soon as possible, and to top it all off, a wizard had Apparated through The Citadel's wards. Raure's phenomenal feat was surely the sign of incredible ability, which made the man a target now both for hunters and ambitious Kindred who might seek to bind him to draw off his power. Draco dropped his head in his hands, he felt a headache coming on, it was going to be a _very _long night.

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Harry woke the next morning slightly disappointed that he hadn't had any significant dreams the night before, or at least nothing he could remember; he was also a bit out-of-sorts in general, and not a little annoyed because he assumed his muscle-bound mother hens were still nesting outside his door.

_Dammit, I'm not some defenceless chick that needs keeping in a gilded cage!_

He huffed and threw a glare at his bedroom door then thrashed around in his bedclothes trying to release some of his frustration. A few minutes later he was sweaty, his bed-linens were half-hanging off the mattress, and he really felt no better.

_Good job Harry, throw a tantrum, that'll just solve everything. _

Marginally calmer he passed a hand over his now atrocious case of bed-hair and sighed, flopping back into his remaining pillows.

_I'm not being fair. I'm not really a prisoner in any sense, and they're here because they want to protect me. I probably don't need protecting, but maybe I do. Those hunters were pretty…yeah, I don't think I could have taken them on alone. _

_Okay, get over yourself. Review the facts. One, there was an attack last night, someone betrayed the whole city, and two, I am guest, and important one by their reckoning. So yes, they're going to want me to be safe. The High Lord…do not think of him as Draco right now! The High Lord is so concerned with my safety he assigns his own personal guards to me. That's a major compliment. So just suck it up, Harry. It's like Tristan said last night, it's poor odds on me against a gang of righteously-indignant, potions-enhanced hunters, even if I am powerful enough to Apparate through The Citadel's wards. And isn't _that _a disturbing thought…_

_Mmm...back to hunters… I saw for myself how fast and skilled they were. Being honest I wouldn't have lasted half as long as Draco and the guards did…_

Harry blindly groped for another pillow and when his fingers closed on its edge he slapped it over his face and groaned.

_Draco…thinking about Draco Malfoy, now…Lord Draco….Lord Draconis, the High Lord… shite. What the hell am I going to do about him? The hate-Draco-Malfoy-above-all-things-not-Voldemort campaign is definitely, perhaps against my better judgement, losing steam. Sodding, cocky, bastard actually impressed the hell out of me last night. He cares about his people, that much is obvious. He has heart…_

His mind's eye travelled back and Harry saw the High Lord as he'd been in battle, knives spinning, hair flashing in the torchlight, fearlessly charging their attackers and defending the innocent.

_Bloody hell, it might even pass for Gryffindor courage. And I have to respect a leader who won't sit back and let others do the hard and dirty work, he was right out there in the thick of it, fighting to protect and defend even though he risked himself._

Thinking of the Order's response when Harry had taken similar risks he chuckled.

_Probably's getting a right bollocking too, the prat, putting himself in danger like that. Where would the Kindred be if he got himself killed, and not even married so he has no clear successor? _

That thought brought everything to a crashing halt as he realised that should he be The Chosen _he _would fall into the chief governing role. Frantic, Harry pushed the pillows and bedclothes away and tumbled to the floor.

_What am I doing? This isn't about one man finding a mate--this is. Oh Merlin--committing to a whole _nation_, becoming their royalty of whatever. I-can't do this! This isn't who I am!_

Harry crouched in a ball beside his bed, breaths coming quicker and more shallowly, his vision started going hazy. It was all too much, too much, too--"

"HARRY SNAP OUT OF IT!"

He was being shaken, pulled from the cycle of racing thoughts by the strong slender hands on his shoulders. Finally he was able to focus and to his surprise met Etienne's warm and worried brown gaze. "Etienne--wha--"

"Are you alright?" the Seer asked gently. "Gaea's grace, you gave me a scare, Harry!" He sat back dramatically with his hand over his heart.

The ploy worked and Harry managed a tiny smile. Calming further as the Seer explained he had come from breakfast, but rushed in unannounced when he and Harry's guards heard the Intended's heart start racing.

Harry shook his head as Etienne finished, clearing away the last haze of his panic and brought his hands over his face. "I'm fine," he answered Etienne's question about his health. "Really," he sighed, "gave myself a bit of a fright s'all." His heart was still pounding but he concentrated on taking slow even breaths and felt much steadier as he calmed.

"Must've been some fright," Etienne said, eyes wide as he sat back on his haunches and waited for Harry to clam himself.

"You could say that." Harry scrubbed his hands over his face tiredly, "Etienne…what am I doing here? I'm no prince or politician. Or some statesman ready to lead a people. What if, forgetting the whole mess with Draco and that it's Draco doing the Choosing…what if, because I just have the strangest luck, by some supremely random bass-ackwards quirk of fate, I'm actually Chosen?" He asked using an Americanism favoured by his best assistant, a transplant from New Jersey. "I-I _can't _do this! I'm just an ordinary healer! I-I-I--" The panic rose again and he'd started to breathe more heavily.

Etienne grabbed his arm sharply to ground him and forestall another attack.

"So it's nerves then." The Seer nodded to himself, "happens to most Intended at one point or another during the Amoraj. Look Harry, you're not _just _anything. I'll tell you what I've told others, if this is what is meant as your destiny then it is what will be. You will meet the challenge with all your skill and the strength of your heart. You will give those who become _your people _the best of what you have to offer and it will be enough. The rest…statecraft and its protocols? Pfft. You'll learn. You will certainly have the time. Remember Harry, you were not always a healer, once you were a student, a soldier, a child, you are still a man, a friend, a confidant, a teacher--the roles we take on in our lives change. It is the nature of the beast; neither life nor our place in it is static. Once, I was a servant, there is nothing to say you might not someday be a Lord."

Harry huffed a touch of petulance creeping into his carriage, "Easy for you to say, you've had hundreds of years to get used to the idea of changing who you were."

Etienne shrugged, "And so might you if you are Chosen." He waved his hand dismissively and hopped to his feet. "Enough of this. I have to feed you," he announced dramatically then pulled Harry up with a wink, "and then since you're a _healer _among other things. I thought I'd bring you to ply your trade at Lady Suruthi's bedside."

Harry blinked and brightened, that would be wonderful! He'd worried after the burned woman before he'd fallen asleep and had hoped he'd be able to find out what happened to her. He was really pleased at the prospect of seeing her again, this time hopefully having made significant progress in her healing. His own disquiet slipped away as his mind shifted into the familiar set of his vocation.

"How is she? Has the stone magic continued to make a difference in how she's healing? What about that horrid collar? Did they find her husband and make that sorry bastard take it off?" He paused and rolled his neck on his shoulders. "I was only able to stop by her cubicle for a moment last night. My guards," he frowned, "were a bit anxious to get me back here. But her parents were still invoking the stones then. Do you know how long that took?"

Etienne smiled at Harry's rapid-fire queries, a questioning Harry was a good sign. "I understand they moved her to their apartments in House Tipu and continued for most of the night. The whole of The Citadel is abuzz with the tale. Of course, House Tipu is in an uproar. But I do not know how she fares this morning. That much I suppose we will find out together. Now before I take anymore of your questions Intended Raure, bathe!"

Etienne flicked his hands at the wrists, shooing Harry to the lavish bathroom. "I'll send for a light breakfast and can tell you what I've heard while we eat," he called out as he heard the slide of cloth fall from Harry's body. "I, for one, am starving, what a night it's been!"

Harry hummed his agreement and hurriedly set about getting ready for the day. He took a quick shower perking up as the bright scent of his toiletries enveloped him, then made short work of brushing his teeth and ridding himself of his morning stubble. As he had the day before, Etienne selected clothing from his ornate wardrobe and helped him dress. Harry shimmied into his smalls and pulled on the ivory surplice shirt that crossed itself just under his clavicles while Etienne held open the blood red robe that would wrap around him like a dressing gown. When he brought Harry a pair of brown knee-high boots, the wizard paused in pulling on his socks. "Uh-Etienne…aren't we forgetting something?" Harry hiked the robe up to his knee and flashed his bare calf at the Seer. "Like…um-trousers?"

His guide chuckled at the slight blush blossoming on Harry's face as he slowly dragged his eyes over the revealed leg. "Oh, honestly Harry!" He raised his eyes, finally taking pity on the flustered man. "Don't be such a prude! This style of robes is worn without trousers. It will be warm today so these will keep you cooler. While they're thin, they're generously cut so you needn't worry about exposing you, ahem, assets, either." He flashed the Intended a cheeky grin.

Harry harrumphed standing in his boots. "Feels like I'm wearing a bloody dress," he grumbled as Etienne fastened the tiny clasps at his side that held the robe closed, and tied a broad sash with gold and ivory embroidery, around his waist leaving the long ends to drape over his right leg. He admired the intricate pattern, reminiscent of the heavy scrollwork carved into many doors and panels throughout his suite, and fingered one end of the sash thoughtfully. Again the fabric was sumptuous, a caress against his skin, and despite himself he smiled. There was something to be said for simple luxuries.

"Now just what's wrong with wearing a dress?" Etienne asked with raised eyebrows, bringing Harry's focus back to their exchange.

"Well, nothing if I were a woman, which I'm not," Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

Etienne smirked, eyeing Harry's groin, and smiled again at the warmth that rose to the wizard's cheeks. "No, I'd say not," he snickered as Harry dropped his arms in shock then made a quick escape to the balcony.

"Clothes are just coverings for the body, Harry. Does it really matter what we call them? And why should anyone be limited in their choices just because a certain article is supposedly designated for one gender or the other? When I was young," he grinned as Harry shot him a pointed look. "When I was truly a boy I mean. Much of what was fashionable could be worn by either gender. I suppose I have a long history with women's clothes if you look at it that way." Etienne shrugged, and poured himself the tea left under a warming charm for them. "A man is no less masculine for wearing a 'dress' than a woman less feminine for wearing trousers, their clothing poses no threat to the security of their identities unless they perceive one." The Seer smirked, "Is your robe threatening your masculinity Harry? Feeling strangely in-touch with your inner-woman?"

Harry tossed a warm scone at the giggling Seer. "Prat, I'm just saying it's different and takes some getting used to s'all," he answered without heat. "Don't mess with me this morning, Etienne," his merrily bright eyes narrowed slightly, "I haven't quite forgiven you yet, you know."

Etienne's playful face cleared, Harry's voice was light, but it held truth, he swallowed thickly, knowing it deserved to be met with the same. "I know," he said seriously, all traces of his teasing banter gone. The adolescent-looking man took a sip of his tea and resolutely met Harry's eyes. "I _am _sorry, Harry, truly. I did not mean to frighten or harm you, and I wish there had been some other way. I did what I felt was necessary, but I regret that my actions have lessened the trust between us.

"I am well aware that my demeanour and visage invite certain assumptions, and lend themselves to an easy belief in my innocence and trustworthiness. This is something I have used to my advantage as it is hard for some to remember that it is only my body which is adolescent. I did not mean to disarm you with my appearance of youth or hold your assumption of a teen's naivety against you, Harry. Nor did I want to use Mesmerism against you." Etienne sighed, threading his fingers through his curly brown hair.

"Even in so short a time," he continued, "I have grown fond of you, Harry. I consider myself your friend. And so I acted to save my friend from doing himself damage. I can only ask that you try to understand and believe that I would do all in my power to help and protect you, even from yourself. I hope you can forgive me, Harry," the Seer finished quietly, his eyes earnest, his long fingers folded over each other on the table.

Harry sighed and sat back, "I like you, Etienne, and I'm honoured you consider me a friend worth protecting. My gut feeling is that I can trust you, and that sense hasn't failed me yet. Just…um…let's not test the limits of that trust again so soon, yeah? I don't offer it lightly, or to many people."

Etienne favoured his host with a small smile, "Alright Harry, I understand. Thank you."

Things between them weren't perfect, but they were surely on the mend.

The rest of their breakfast was eaten in companionable silence until Elly popped in holding a silver tray bearing a heavy ivory card addressed to Intended Raure.

Harry grinned at the Maurai as he took the card, "Thank you. Would you come for tea with me tomorrow, Elly?"

Her responding smile nearly split her face, "Intended Raure is most kind to be asking. Elly is being delighted to accept!"

"Great, it'll be nice to have some time to talk again, thanks."

The elf bowed and disappeared again with a soft pop.

"Charmer," Etienne grinned.

Harry shrugged, "I like her, and um…she—uh--helped me rethink some things. " Without the use of restraining magic, was left unsaid.

Etienne nodded thoughtfully, "Elly is a very perceptive, and a good listener, besides. I'm glad she could help you.

Harry distractedly hummed his agreement, already focussed on the card.

_Seketh ame, _

_I understand the remainder of the night passed quietly for you. This pleases me, and I venture you were perhaps more tired than you knew despite what Akil and Tristan have said, were your rather vocal protestations. I realise my directives may seem rather heavy-handed, but you are my guest. I take your safety and comfort very seriously. Because of this, Akil, Tristan, Thayure and Aidan will continue on as your personal guards for the remainder of the Amoraj and your stay in The Citadel. While the Kynaston is the most secure location in the city, I chose to be overly cautious in light of last night's attack. _

_I do not doubt your strength or courage, Raure. Indeed, the wondrous feat you accomplished last night tells me plainly that you are exceedingly powerful. I have been advised that it is your substantial innate power coupled with a natural affinity for Earth and will magic which enabled your Apparition. Impressive, particularly given the majority of the world's wizarding populace have fallen out of alignment with the magical essences that draw upon Earth magic. Perhaps you can impose on Etienne for further explanation as I have no wish to bore you with a lecture on magical theory, and there is more I must impart before closing this letter. _

_It is not every man who would so readily come to another's aid in the midst of battle when he was safely away from the danger. And then to nearly exhaust himself in caring for others in the aftermath, especially when he has no obligation to the people he's offered his aid by ties of kinship, blood or duty. Such a man has my deepest respect, for my own part and on behalf of my people, I thank you._

_I wish to know such a man better, and I fervently hope you will grant me that opportunity despite the inconvenience the necessary postponement of the Amoraj may cause you. _

_The Courting will resume in three days so that we may mourn and attend the rites we offer to honour our dead. I ask that you stay, Raure, though you are within your rights to become Honoured and return to the safety of your homeland. _

_And though it is necessarily an occasion that begins in sorrow, I say too, that I look forward to your presence at the fires. _

_D. _

Harry folded the card and shook his head. He smirked at Etienne's raised brow. "Merlin, is he a flatterer." He sniffed, "Still a presumptuous, high-handed git though, and I'm going to kick his arse for putting his guards on nanny-duty like I'm some snot-nosed baby what needs his arse wiped."

Etienne chortled, and laid his head on the table, finally unable to control his laughter. "Never heard…live for two more millennia…Aidan 'n Thayure…nannies…arse…too funny…"

Harry grinned, and let loose a few chuckles of his own. Yes, he would stay. He'd already given his word. And besides, the High Lord was proving a man he would like to know better too.

Neither life, nor our place in it is static, Etienne had said; Harry had certainly grown from whom he'd been as a boy, his roles had changed, it seemed there'd been great changes in Draco Malfoy's life as well, he was curious to know who this man was now, and maybe to finally take the hand offered so long ago.

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TBC…

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a/n: My apologies, having some trouble formatting and keeping the dividing lines between perspective shifts, please have patience…


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

"My patience is wearing thin, Lord Counsellor," Marjeta said silkily, her sharpened claws skimming lightly over the Kindred lord's chest.

"You wouldn't dare," the bound man spat. "You know as well as I, _Lady Castellan_," he spat her title with derision, "any harm inflicted on me affects my wife doubly. You count Suruthi as a friend, do you not?" He taunted smugly. "Would you harm her then?"

He might've been dragged from his home shackled like some common criminal and brought to this Goddess-forsaken cell beneath The Kynaston, but they dare not hurt him truly. Oh, they could try, the feral glint in the Castellan's eyes spoke of her barely held restraint, but though she might be tempted, neither she nor the watching guards would injure him knowing he held the key to his wife's health. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't consider really hurting Suruthi, but if they pushed him, he'd show them that to trifle with Prakash Bhushan just wasn't done. He could manipulate the control collar from afar, after all. In this instance, he was not above leveraging his hostage for his freedom.

Marjeta smirked, let the pathetic man think what he would; comfort himself with his petty schemes. She had greater resources than he knew. "Of course, Lord Counsellor, Lady Suruthi's well-being is of paramount concern to me…would that you could say the same?" She sneered as she raised an eyebrow and stepped back in seeming acquiescence.

Prakash sagged slightly against his manacles as the Castellan retreated, clearing the room. He'd been granted a reprieve. He just had to hold his tongue until he was freed. It wouldn't be long, he was sure. He wouldn't be hurt, and Barnabas would find a way to have him released. The ambitious lord still needed him to complete his plans. Prakash held no illusion that the Kindred lord thought him expendable, but not before the ritual had been completed and the support of Prakash's traditionalists was secure. No, Lord Prakash Bhushan still had an important role to play; Barnabas would not leave him to languish in the dungeons.

And even if Barnabas' plan to free him was not perfectly executed, there was still the hearing before The Council he could use to convince the others his arrest was a grave error. There were some who would perhaps consider the use of a control collar reprehensible, but others…well Prakash was certain there were some on The Council who'd longed for a means to better govern their own outspoken and contrary mates. These would support him as having acted within his rights.

As Prakash mused, caught up in delusions of his renewed position, and possible ascendance to position of Castellan, Marjeta silently slipped back into the room, watching the faint smile the condemned lord wore broaden.

_Lord Castellan Prakash Bhushan, yes that sounds fine._

He blinded himself to the reality of his situation, preferring to consider how his loyalty to Barnabas would be rewarded, brushing aside his earlier fear. It had been a moment of weakness he decided. He'd known Barnabas nearly a century, and had been his closest confidant, these last twenty years. It was foolish to allow a moment's doubt blind him to the future High Lord's true purpose and character. It was a very poor showing of faith to be shaken over a fleeting feeling. No, all would be resolved, and proceed as they had planned. His current predicament was only a minor hitch, easily smoothed over and remedied.

_Hold fast and be loyal. Barnabas will not forsake me._

He took deep breaths to calm himself. He would survive this, and take vengeance on his enemies for the affront. Marjeta could almost see the delusion settling on him. She had had enough. "PRAKASH!"

The bound Kindred's head snapped up and she met his eyes, unguarded for just that moment, but it was enough to unleash her abilities.

Fuelled by rage and impatience, she tore into his mind. It was a well-kept secret that Marjeta Vlcek was a Master Mesmera. She had trained from a young age and come further than any in living memory. Mind talents only hinted at in the oldest texts were hers to command. And without apology, she called all her skill to the fore and accomplished something thought to be impossible…

Prakash struggled against his bindings, fighting the violent invasion with all his mental strength, but his defences were meagre in the face of Marjeta's greater power and training. Keening with defeated disbelief, he yielded to the mighty wrenching that seemed to split him in two. The wound was to his very soul, and only at the fringe of its tattered remains could he feel the slightest echo of his once thrumming connection to his wife.

"Wh-what have you done?" he wailed with anguish, as deep loss, and bitter cold settled within him, "What have you done? She-she is gone!"

Canines descended, eyes glowing, Marjeta tossed her head with triumph.

"You are alone," she snarled. "No more hiding behind your wife's skirts, denvit pja!" She cursed at him in the ancient tongue, and approached like a great cat on the hunt. "You aren't worthy of her Prakash," he teeth gleamed. "She is free now. The tainted bond is broken, it as though it never existed." She announced with gleeful cruelty.

The disgraced lord recoiled in horror, "Impossible! You have killed us. Murdered her! No Kindred can survive without their mate!"

"Ah," Marjeta smirked, a fang nicking her lip. "But you are no longer mated." She licked the trickle of blood away with relish.

He shook his head violently, both to deny her words and to clear the fog of cold swiftly dulling his mind. "No! No--the bond is irrevocable. We are mated for life. She is mine!"

Marjeta laughed harshly, "Only a true bond is inviolate. A corrupted bond," she shrugged, flexing her claws, "a bond betrayed, well that's something altogether different."

"Suruthi now belongs to none but herself," she said, steel lacing her tone. "And you…belong to me."

Now that he was in her reach, she flicked her wrist casually and gouged open his cheek. "I do believe, Lord Counsellor," she said as he whimpered, "that you have something to tell me about the hunter's attack, yes?"

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Hours later, the Kindred High Lord laid a cool cloth across the brow of his reclining Castellan as she laid on a chaise in his personal study. "You've done well, Cousin," he said with soft approval.

Marjeta sighed, "Yes, perhaps, but at a price. My damn head is killing me, my teeth hurt, my claws hurt, my…"

The blond lord grinned, "I get it, you've been rather busy and you hurt. Tell me is there anything left of Prakash following your little interview? I'd rather like to have something to present to The Council when his trial is called."

She chuckled softly at his dry humour. "Don't worry there's at least enough to drag before The Council for the hearing," she smirked. "Barely. Besides, as much as I wanted to kill him; I need him alive for further questioning. I didn't get much out of him once I'd severed the bond. It was fun to play with him awhile, but you can't imagine how taxing it is severing a bond without injuring the other mate. Before I was overcome I was only able to learn that he _is _involved in a plot to unseat you, but I was unable to glean the names of his fellow conspirators, or the details of their plans beyond forcing an interruption to the Amoraj, whatever good that will do."

She sighed again, shaking her head gently at her perceived failure. "I _am _sorry, Abre Hir."

Draco snorted and took the cloth to refresh the cooling charm. "Marjeta, you exercised a talent that hasn't been harnessed in millennia, saving Suruthi in the process. You have nothing to apologise for. At least now we know that Prakash was definitely involved in the subversion of our defences. We know to be wary of his unnamed allies' plans, and that the threat is from within, rather than some new ability of the hunters to outmanoeuvre our defences. I doubt there'll be another attack like last night's." He urged her down on the chaise and replaced the cooled cloth. "And, as much as I hate to let that bastard enjoy any sort of reprieve, Prakash will keep for a second interrogation while we attend to other pressing matters. A few days in the dungeons won't make much difference." Draco smirked with a look at Marjeta's red-stained fingertips, "I doubt he'll be in any shape to name names for that long anyway."

She flashed him a fanged smile thinking of the bloodied, broken wreck she'd left strung up in the putrid cell, "No, I suppose not," she answered all cool grace and nonchalance. She might not have fully breached his mind, but she'd certainly had her 'pound of flesh' from Lord Prakash, and then some. As other thoughts filtered in, she sobered, "What of the Amoraj, Cousin? That part of their plan _has _been successful. There must be a delay to allow for mourning."

He tapped his fingers against his full lips, "It seems most likely that they wanted the time to lure one of the Intended into an assassination plot. I have no heir, and unbonded I am Most High and Clan Chief to Arsaelan both. Taking me down now would allow for a vacuum that could throw the Clans into a very long and bloody war for control. I will be cautious, but we should also monitor all who have contact with the Intended closely. I want daily reports from their guards; besides the guides, those seeking repeated audiences with the Intended and the Honoured are suspect at least until The Choosing."

"As you will it, Abre Hir," she replied. "At least it is not an overly long delay. Three days can't make that great a difference in their plans. The Courting will only last a few days given the number of Intended. I doubt they'll be able to organise a move before the Choosing."

"Perhaps," Draco closed his eyes a moment, considering, "But security for the Intended must be tightened anyway. Luring an Intended into their scheme may not be their aim. Death of an Intended would compromise the Amoraj to an unacceptable degree. It's happened before, and the Amoraj was negated. I'd have to endure the pull again; everything would have to be redone. I'm not willing to lose any of them Marjeta."

"Agreed," she sat up and placed the cloth in its basin. "I will discuss the security detail with Nicodemus. But no more assigning your Elite guard to their protection."

"As if I had a choice," he answered bemused. "Etienne was recalled to the Seer's Tower before he could secure guards for Raure. And given what we've seen, even my Elite may not be enough to keep up with him."

Marjeta crossed the room and poured two glasses of effervescent green juice into cut-crystal goblets. She handed one to her liege with a smirk, "Yes, Raure…he is something of a conundrum isn't he?"

Draco sipped the light beverage and offered her a mischievous smile, "You could say that. You brought him to The Citadel, Marjeta, what do you make of him?"

She snickered and shook her finger, "Oh no, you'll not weasel any information from me, Abre Hir. You'll just have to wait until his day of Courting and find out for yourself. Just as you will with all of your Intended."

He threw himself into his favourite armchair with a slight pout, "No fair, Cousin!"

"Besides," he sighed, "there's something about him. Something familiar. I can't really place it, it's just a feeling that I know him, or that I should. He is a powerful wizard to be sure. And he certainly offers a challenge, there's nothing of the meek about him. He's not impressed in the slightest by my title or position… Maybe we crossed paths when I was journeying. I certainly never knew anyone like that before my transformation."

The Castellan smiled indulgently, "Anything is possible, Draco. But don't worry over it too much. There are others you know, and you must be open to all possibilities afforded by The Amoraj."

"I know. I've only met him once, twice if you count our little exchange in the Healing Hall. And really he reminds me a great deal of Aerun, who I've also only met twice," he added with a significant look to stall any possible recrimination. "They're both rather…secure, in their opinions, I think."

"I like that," he said nearly to himself, thinking of his dream lover. Strength, surety, challenge. He smiled.

Marjeta cleared her throat, "Yes well, you have informed them about the postponement haven't you? It would be a shame if your especial favourites decided not to stay."

He nodded the smile away, "They are not my especial favourites. I just…find them both interesting. And yes, I did write to each of them this morning about the delay in The Courtship. I've yet to receive responses from any of the Intended. But I would be surprised if Aerun and Raure refused. Aerun is the sort who won't back down from a challenge, and I get the feeling that's exactly how he sees me. Raure, is too curious about what might happen not to follow through. Besides, remaining is the honourable thing to do, and he most certainly is."

"Oh?" Marjeta raised a brow. "And how have you come by that conclusion?"

"He came to my aid during the attack, Marjeta, and he remained at the Healing Hall to assist virtual strangers, in part it was compassion, but also it is duty and honour that drives him. I feel it."

She nodded; pleased with the way he was developing his heightened empathic sense. It was another sign he was reaching the apex of his Kindred abilities. "Perhaps," she allowed. "He _is _curious, and I would say honourable too. But--"

"I know, Marjeta," he waved off the rest of her comment. "I have formed no particular attachment to Raure, or any of the other Intended."

She set her goblet down and gently squeezed his shoulders. "Have patience, Draco, all will be revealed in its right time. And there is much to be seen to in the meanwhile. Don't trouble yourself over the Intended. There are dozens of incredibly powerful wizards in the world. And probably more than a few who keep with the old ways enough to have an affinity for Earth magic. There's no need to spend your energies trying to puzzle out their identities. Raure, Aerun, Tau, and Saeth will be made known to you the day of The Choosing, _not before_," she chastised lightly.

Draco harrumphed as she led him up and toward his bedroom, lecturing as they walked. "And speaking of all that needs attending, this day will be a long one for you. You must visit all the Houses and the homes of the fallen, and address the state of the gardens with House Damek. So I suggest, you rest now while you can, seeing as you didn't sleep at all last night and should really be abed all day to give yourself time to heal well."

He rolled his eyes at the gentle nagging, but kissed her brow in agreement nonetheless. It would be a long day, she was right. Already it was nearing noon, but he would deal with The Council later, send for a report on Lady Suruthi later, hopefully slip in a meal later, and he could most certainly consider the enigmatic Intendeds, Raure and Aerun later. Or perhaps not. Maybe in this too Marjeta had the right of things. The Great Mother would lead him if he held fast to his faith. Her hand had guided him this far. She would lead him to his answers, and to his Chosen.

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When they finally set out from The Kynaston Harry noticed that everyone they'd seen so far was dressed in the same deep red of his robes.

"Blood is life, Intended Raure," Etienne answered when he'd asked about it. "We dress this way to commemorate the Blood that was spilled, the lives lost and broken because of the hunter's attack."

Harry nodded solemnly. For him it was a very visual and saddening reminder of the cost of war. The Kindred, like other magical 'creatures' declared Dark by the Wizarding world were perpetually under siege. He thought of Remus and his lifelong struggle for acceptance and constant battle against the stigma of lycanthropy. Of Hagrid, and how people assumed the size and strength granted him through his giant heritage indicated a lack of intelligence and a propensity for violence. Harry thought of Dobby, who risked terrible punishment to save Harry (well, trying to save Harry), was so grateful (sometimes infuriatingly so), and uniquely savoured the individuality afforded him by his freedom, holding his emancipation, along with his atrociously mismatched socks, so fervently.

The chattering of children caught his attention and Harry turned from his thoughts to see a Kindred man and two small girls carrying what looked to be the day's shopping. The man smiled brightly at the older girl holding his sleeve, as the smaller girl perched on his shoulders carefully leaned down to pass her sister a red lolly.

It was a simple scene of familial love and affection, and Harry's gut churned with shame and revulsion, that he was part of a society, who condemned the charming family. Because of what they were someone had classed these beautiful children and their loving father as monsters, sinister creatures of the Dark, to be put down with extreme prejudice.

Prejudice. The Wizarding world was rife with it still. Blind intolerance and irrational hatred for all who were different had been the cause of more bloodshed and conflict than any other threat. And yet they, he by association, persisted in making judgements, assessing worth. He recalled something Etienne had said about the High Lord, Draco was Kindred-transformed, whatever that meant, not Kindred-born or Kindred-turned. Kindred-born. How was that different than Muggleborn? It seemed to Harry that worth based on heritage and bloodlines was still at issue in the Wizarding world, despite all they'd fought for and sacrificed in the war against Voldemort and the Death Eaters.

It sickened him that even the most apathetic wizards and witches had finally mobilised and denounced the depravity that enabled Death Eaters to viciously attack a series of Muggle schools and nurseries, yet they kept silent and supported the International Confederation of Wizards who sent brutal assassins in the night to slaughter innocent families and murder children.

It was a very thin veneer that separated the Death Eaters from those who governed the Wizarding world, Harry decided. As things stood he could see no real difference between the articles of office that designated members of the ICW, Wizengamot, and Ministry Council, and the skeleton masks which stood as markers of violence, hatred and genocide.

Harry shuddered suddenly, feeling a chill. Maybe it was time for Hermione to break out the badges again. This time he'd help with the acronym.

"-aure? Raure, are you alright?" Etienne placed his hand on Harry's forearm.

"Huh-oh-uh, just thinking, Etienne. I'm fine." His eyes cleared and he turned again to look for the small family who were now far ahead of them. A nearly forgotten appeal for magic's own protection, sometimes intoned by Molly Weasley over his godchildren's cots came to mind, and with all of his best wishes he sent the thought after the family.

_Have good and happy lives. _He thought finally, as he quickened his pace to keep up with Etienne.

"So, Etienne," he said once they were again walking side by side. "I wanted to thank you."

The Seer raised his brow in question and Harry smiled a bit at how the expression wasn't always suited to his youngish face. He shrugged, "For choosing my robes today, and explaining everything. I-well…I guess," Harry scrubbed at his hair, earning a disapproving clucking from his guide. "I wouldn't want to offend anyone. But…uh, more than that. I-I'm a guest here, but I'm more than that too…I'm vested somehow, and I-I choose to be here. I don't understand everything, and maybe can't do anything to ease anyone's grief, but-uh, I can at least show I'm affected too, that I respect what my hosts are going through. Your whole city welcomed me here, I-uh, I wanted to show that it's important to me."

Etienne beamed with approval and began to nod, but froze in the motion. His eyes clouded over, their rich brown warmth suddenly obscured by a milky white glaze. Shocked, Harry reached for the smaller man and caught him just as he crumpled.

"Etienne!" Harry drew the boyish body against his chest, and tried to check the Seer over without jostling him too much.

Just as suddenly as the fit began, it lifted, and Etienne pushed himself out of Harry's arms to stand. "I'm alright," he said, straightening himself, voice steady and strong, though his eyes were still far away. He blinked rapidly as he shook out his robes, brushing them down with his hands. "Hazards of the trade," he grinned a bit, hoping to distract Harry a little.

"Hazards of the…oh-OH! You Saw something. What was it? Can you tell me?" Yes, he'd seen Seers and divinators fall into trances before, but it was still rather unnerving. He cast a weather eye on his new friend, "You're sure you're alright?"

"I am fine, Raure," he soothed, tapping Harry's cheek. "I'm quite used to it by now. A bit inconvenient when they come on like that, but nothing I cannot handle. Nothing to concern yourself with," he smiled at the wizard. "Yet…" he added too softly for Harry to hear.

Harry had no cause to complain though, Etienne's young body soon seemed recovered from his vision, and once again they walked apace to House Tipu. Etienne had brushed off, or redirected all of his inquiries, so Harry reckoned he wasn't going to get anything out of the Seer about his vision anytime soon. It did make him wonder though, about what life was like for Etienne with his true Sight. That got him thinking about Kindred life in general, and its ending, so he spent the rest of their walk learning about Kindred funeral rites, and the three days of mourning, the Amoraj had been postponed for.

Today was the first day, Etienne explained. A day of public mourning, and collective grief, those wishing to visit with the family could do so, and each House would hold a memorial at sunset for those who'd died, whether or not members of their own Houses had perished in the attack. The second was a day of private grief for the families and personal friends, they remained sequestered in the family home and there were prayers, and rituals invoked with priests and priestesses from House Auberon. The third day was for the fires. Three bonfires were lit, Etienne explained and all gathered to sing the spirit on, and to dance in celebration of life. The life of the departed and the life of those who survived them.

"Life goes on, Raure," Etienne said. "We mourn and we remember, but we honour them better with joy than sorrow. For life is a joyous thing, and we have been blessed to know them at all."

With that Etienne passed through great doorway of House Tipu, Harry followed, taking in the sight of grand courtyard standing in the very place the House Lord had been arrested, hours before.

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Further a field, an aged wizard stroked his beard and signed his letter with a flourish. His response would hopefully placate the irate parents whose son had been caught up in the latest mayhem, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, wreaked by the newest incarnation of the Marauders. He was grinning at the thought of the quartet's antics, and just what he'd have to do to smooth Argus' ruffled feathers, when the flames in his grate shot up and turned a vivid green. A moment later the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Head Auror stepped through the Floo.

"Kingsley," the headmaster smiled, "to what do I owe the pleasure? Tea? Lemon Sherbet?"

Registering the grim look on the dark man's handsome face, Dumbledore's smile and accompanying twinkled dimmed. "What news have you Kingsley?" His demeanour changed in that instant to that of the wizard who'd been commanding resistance to the forces of evil for over a century.

The Auror shook his head, "Albus, we have a problem. Hilary McNair is dead."

A slight narrowing of his sharp blue eyes was Dumbledore's only outward reaction to the stark announcement. He waved his long-time lieutenant to a seat. "Tell me everything."

Tbc...

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A/N: thanks to everyone who's contributed to editing thus far. More revisions and additional chapters to be posted soonish (don't harp on me about defining "soonish" I'm working on it (g). Thanks for sticking with it!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Much thanks for Mamacita-san for the beta! She's a treasure! And if you're reading please review, and thanks for sticking with it!

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**12.**

House Tipu's Healer Anait was at a loss to explain it, but just as Anupama Saha was explaining to a rapt Intended Raure the purpose of the speckled volcanic glass she was about to lay on her daughter's brow, the glow in the stones studding the silver choker around Lady Suruthi's neck flared and died. When the spark faded the collar lay open and innocuous-looking as any other piece of unspelled jewellery.

Suruthi's hands flew to her bared throat. "I'm free!"

Healer Anait lifted the foul thing away, looking over the House's Lady with concern. "Yes, but how?" Had Prakash been convinced to release the collar? Was he dead? Either prospect carried danger for the beloved Lady.

Suruthi shook her head. "I—I am all right." She met the healer's worried eyes. "And if he is dead I am no worse for it," she said wonderingly. "I feel no loss, no overwhelming sorrow; no grief so consuming that I will perish from it." She turned her questioning eyes to Etienne. "I—I feel myself, but...with the anticipation that completion awaits me. As I have not felt since before I was bonded to Prakash. Etienne, how can this be? I am Suruthi Saha again."

He favoured her with a gentle smile. This was Marjeta's work, to be sure, and he needed to return to the Kynaston right away. "It has happened before; it is the dissolution of a perverted bond. Prakash's actions surely count as a violation of the bond, and the tie between you is now broken. This is a rare happening, Suruthi. You have been given a gift—the chance to forge a new bond with a soul that is a truer match. We are not often wrong in our choice of mates, but something fundamental changed in you, or Prakash's soul has been so corrupted that you no longer suit one another. Grieve for what has been lost and heal. Your House will need your strength in the days to come," he added with the sure echo of his Sight.

In the meanwhile, Harry was amazed. Whatever had happened to free Lady Suruthi from the collar's effects, the results were astonishing. Already, in just these few minutes, her skin was rejuvenating at a frightening pace. It was as though all her blocked healing abilities were now rushing forward to do the work they'd been denied. He watched in admittedly morbid fascination as scabs rapidly formed and flaked away, revealing first shiny, pink new growth, then recovering the melanin of her usual skin tone. He'd never seen anything like it. He was so rapt with fascination it took Etienne several tries to get his attention; and then, grinning at Harry's curiosity, he suggested they take their leave so the family could discuss what had happened and Lady Suruthi could continue to rest and heal in peace.

Healer Anait promised to keep Harry apprised of her recovery, and Lady Suruthi herself invited him to return for another visit when she was fully recovered to thank him for his compassion and his attempts to heal her. "And so we can teach you more about the magic of stones and gems!" her father, Prasad, added. "That, too, Intended Raure," Suruthi's mother, Anupama, smiled, "but more because you are now a friend of our family. You are always welcome to at the Sahas' table."

Harry and Etienne parted ways when they returned to Kynaston, but not before Etienne promised to send a messenger with some elementary texts on stone, ritual, Earth, and runic magic that afternoon. He sauntered off with a grin and a promise to quiz the groaning wizard later. Harry had no intention of devoting the rest of the warm afternoon to study, despite his interest. Surprisingly, he felt in need of a nap, and with a quick wave to Aidan and Thayure, who'd been incredibly unobtrusive all morning, he locked himself in his suite intent on just that, and maybe an indulgent soak in his luxurious bath after. He was on holiday, after all.

Harry hung up his robes and slipped back into just his pyjama bottoms. The cool bedding felt fantastic against his skin and he was asleep almost before he knew it.

_He pressed a line of kisses down a slender throat; this time it was his own voice, rumbling low in a seductive purr. "You are so very beautiful." He cupped his hands on the cap of muscle that defined his lover's shoulders and squeezed gently, nuzzling behind his ear. He stroked his palms down the long, strong arms and clasped the elegant fingers of his lover's hands in his own. "So very beautiful, and mine," he whispered into the perfect shell of his lover's ear. Heads turned and lips met in a soft kiss of assurance and affection. "Yes, yours, amta ame." He felt again the press of lips to his, and then came the heady whisper, "Always yours. Always, sen daralis beleth."_

Harry woke feeling both well-rested and puzzled. He hadn't had any dreams of his mystery lover the night before, so why now, in the middle of the afternoon? And why had their embrace felt so right? He'd made a claim in this dream, and it had been affirmed as though love and passion were a given between them. He wondered if the dreams were truly an effect of the Amoraj and if it was the High Lord he met in his dreams. That thought unsettled him; no way was he ready to entertain thoughts of Malfoy—no, it was Draco now—that way. He'd only just started to admit he might like the man; he definitely wasn't ready to wrap his head around lusting after him. And besides, he liked that his mystery lover made him feel special. If these dreams were from the High Lord and he shared them with all his Intended, it would spoil the allure for Harry. No, it was better to think his unknown lover was his alone.

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He brushed his fingers over his neck and smiled softly as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. It had been a short nap, but a refreshing one. _Am I yours already? How does my soul know what my mind cannot?_ Draco mused as he stretched, but stopped suddenly as he registered another presence in the bedside chair. Instantly alert and on edge he turned his head to meet the smirking countenance of one of his least favourite people.

"Casimir, what are you doing in my bedchamber and how did you get by my guards?" Draco barked, all languor burned away by his irritation.

"Oh, my Lord, I hope I did not startle you," the socialite crooned. "I was passing by the Lady Castellan's office when I heard she was in need of a messenger, and I offered my services. You were resting so peacefully I was loathe to disturb you, though your guards let me in right away. Was I wrong to have waited?" he asked innocently, batting his long lashes. "Your dreams seemed so soothing—" daringly he traced his hand along Draco's thigh toward the pronounced bulge in his sleep pants— "I hadn't the heart to wake you."

Draco growled and stood quickly, dislodging Casimir's hand. "Enough, Casimir. Your soul did not answer the call; you've no cause to touch me. Relay your message and leave."

"Of course, your Highness." Casimir dropped his head deeply. "The Lady Castellan begs your immediate counsel on a matter of grave importance. She awaits your presence in her office."

"You fool!" Draco spat. "You sit here watching me sleep when the Lady Castellan has sent you with an urgent message? Get out, Casimir, and do not let me see you for some time after this." Draco was disgusted. The courtier occasionally had his uses, but he fancied himself a smoother operator than he actually was and valued himself too highly in the various court intrigues. That he thought he could come into the High Lord's chambers as he had and take such liberties without repercussions told Draco that his ego had soared to new heights. "Leave now, Casimir," Draco said, dismissing him, then turned to his wardrobe. "And Casimir," he added just as the idiot reached the door, "if you ever lay your hand on my person again I will have that hand severed. Do you understand?"

Casimir blanched, hearing true sincerity in the voice of his liege. "Yes, my Lord," he croaked in a low voice, then hurried away.

Before long Draco was dressed and stalking down the corridors, his newly chastened guards on alert around him. He did not wait at Marjeta's office door but simply strolled in and shut the portal behind him.

"By all that is holy, what possessed you to send Casimir to me?" he demanded, eschewing even a perfunctory greeting.

"I take it he did something inappropriate?"

"If by inappropriate you mean invading my bedchamber and watching me sleep for who knows how long, then yes! Marjeta—"

She held up her hand and shook her head. "Surveillance," she mouthed at Draco's affronted look.

He nodded grimly, then turned back to the door. Placing his hands on either side of the seam where the double doors met, Draco took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began a soft chant. As the words spilled from his mouth a green glow surrounded his hands then spread. Across the doors, down to the floor, across the floor, and up the walls to the ceiling; the light moved swiftly until the room was awash, then faded just as quickly as it had begun.

"We are secure." Draco turned and sat heavily in the chair before his seneschal's desk. "What is going on?"

"Casimir was too conveniently placed. I sent him to you rather than give him time to report to whoever is behind this."

Draco raised a hand. "Too conveniently placed when?"

"When I came up from the dungeons after finding Prakash's dead body he was in the hall above the dungeons and looking as if he were in a hurry to get somewhere."

"You think he killed Prakash to silence him."

"Yes, and delaying him gave me time to contact Captain Nicodemus. Casimir is being tracked as we speak. I don't know that we'll find the evidence needed to indict him in Prakash's murder, but he'll be brought in for questioning tomorrow and hopefully we'll find out who he's reporting to in the next few hours."

Draco nodded. "Well done. We'll uncover the plot one way or another. Now, about Prakash—what happened?"

"Fast-acting poison. Traces of blue powder were around his nose and mouth. Guards are investigating. And I've sent a messenger to Tipu. It's fortunate I was able to break the bond, Draco. If we'd lost Prakash and Suruthi there would have been great turmoil. As it is, things are more complicated now. A dishonoured lord, murdered before his trial for treason? The camp of conservative traditionalists is going to be in an uproar at the next Council meeting."

"True, but we'll proceed as best we can. The Amoraj will go forward, as will the induction of House Inari. The conspirators are likely Prakash's compatriots and we will need to begin a delicate interrogation of all the Council. We're running against the clock on this, Marjeta; make use of as many of Nicodemus' people as you have to. I want this resolved as soon as possible.

"I'm going to start the round of Houses now, beginning with Tipu. I'll have lunch with Lord Levi of Damek to discuss the gardens. I'm afraid Eloene will have to do without your company at dinner tonight. I want a full report on the investigation into Prakash's murder, an update on the Casimir situation, and the initial plans for the Inari induction gala by then."

"You'll have it."

* * *

By mid-afternoon Harry had relented and with the introductory book of runes tucked under his arm he made his way down the deep stone stairs from his balcony to the open greenspace below. He picked a perfect spot under a wide, shady tree and found to his surprise that he was rapidly drawn into the explanations and uses of this branch of magic.

"I hope that's pleasure reading," a deep voice interrupted.

Harry looked up at the tall sandy-haired man. He briefly remembered their meeting the morning of the Presentation. Bright blue eyes sparkled at him as the man held out his hand. "Aerun. Well, it's Everett really, but I'm trying to get into the habit of using the name they gave me." Harry blinked his surprise. Etienne had said magic-kind from all over the world answered the pull of the Amoraj, but he really hadn't expected an American, as Everett's accent announced him.

"I'm Raure," Harry answered, shaking the extended hand.

"Nice to meet you." Aerun smiled and crouched beside Harry, tilting his head to get a better look at the book. "Runes, huh? Not exactly pleasure reading, then."

"Not exactly, no." Harry grinned in response and continued, "I am enjoying it, though."

"You sound like my old man—he's always brushing up on runic magic." At Harry's confused frown Aerun explained, "It's the family firm—Warrington and Sterns, Wards and Wands since 1763."

Chuckling lightly, Harry lifted his book. "This must be old hat for you, then, what with runes being such a major part of the warding business."

"A bit," Aerun offered. "We had very thorough lessons in runic magic at Salem Academy, but I was pretty advanced even before I started school. How about you? I see you're brushing up on some of the elementary stuff there—you need a refresher for a project or something? I have to warn you it can be pretty intense, so if you're looking to do a major work you're probably better off hiring somebody."

"Oh, uh, thanks, but no...actually we—I didn't take runes at all in school, so I'm just trying to catch up a bit."

Aerun gave an approving nod. "Nothing wrong with wanting to improve yourself. I have to say, though, there are better ways to spend a sunny afternoon than with your nose in a musty old book!"

"True, but my guide is likely going to test me on my new-found knowledge later, and knowing him I'll get teased terribly if I don't get through at least some of this today. Besides, you're the expert—you should be offering me _your_ services!"

"Sorry, buddy, I'm on vacation!" Aerun joked with his hands up. "No, actually I'd love to give you a hand, pass on a little of what's cluttering up the old attic here." He tapped his head.

True to his word, Aerun helped Harry through some rudimentary lessons and then taught him a game based on rune memorisation. They spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and playing, and Harry found himself truly enjoying the other man's company. So much so that he was disappointed when Aerun called a halt to their last game on account of dinner. "I'm supposed to meet my guide, and it's going to take me forever to figure out how to get back there," he said regretfully.

"Perhaps I may be of assistance, then?" Etienne piped up, and the other men startled. "Sorry! Didn't think I'd catch you so off guard. I'm Raure's guide, Etienne." He extended his hand toward the American.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aerun."

"Well, Aerun, I understand you're to meet your guide for dinner. Do you know where?"

"I'm just supposed to meet her at House Ahearn," the man shrugged.

"Ah, I think I know what Jasmine has planned for you. She is an excellent cook, and because of the mourning days I'm thinking she wanted to get you out of your rooms but not subject you to the dining hall. Would you mind terribly if Raure and I invite ourselves along? She always cooks enough to feed a large family, so I'm sure there'll be plenty."

"Sounds fine by me, especially if you can get me to Ahearn without getting lost."

"That I can certainly do, though you could have asked your guards." Etienne added cheekily, "But now you'll have company for dinner!"

They made it to House Ahearn and through introductions and explanations in less than thirty minutes. Almost immediately Jasmine Sione, Aerun's guide, bustled them off to a private courtyard in the section of the House where she made her home, and sat them down to eat. Harry was again struck by the varying beauty of Kindred decoration and architecture, as the courtyard was all small manicured trees and stonework. He was eyeing a large, glowing stone covered in carved runes in a corner when he noticed Aerun's gaze had followed his. "Those are some impressive protections," Aerun noted approvingly.

"You know of rune stones, Intended Aerun?"

"He's studied runes his whole life, Etienne," Harry answered as the other wizard nodded. "Between the two of you there might be hope for me yet!" He grinned and lifted the cover off a fragrant rice dish, explaining to Jasmine, "Etienne is trying to close the gaps in my lacking magical education."

"The glaring, cavernous gaps," Etienne snickered. "I don't know how far we'll get, Raure, but I'm determined that you'll have some rudimentary rune lore under your belt by the end of your stay!"

His audience laughed and Aerun clapped Harry's shoulder companionably. "Don't worry, Raure; I'll help you with your homework."

Harry shook his head but smiled as he tucked in to the plate of delicacies before him.

While they ate, conversation flowed from one topic to the next, Kindred guides answering the questions put to them by the curious Intended. No topic seemed taboo. Finally Jasmine offered an answer to one question that had plagued Harry from the beginning. "Kindred are highly ritualistic beings," she said, lacing her fingers together over her wineglass. "Symbolism holds great meaning in our lives. There is no more potent symbol than blood. Blood ties are connections between members of a family; blood rites are among the most powerfully sacred and profane; blood carries life through our bodies; with every beat of our hearts, life courses through our veins. In sharing blood we share life and connection—we join ourselves with other beings of Earth, renewing and rejuvenating ourselves. Feeding is a ritual of connectedness."

"I see questions in your eyes, Aerun. Ask," Etienne prodded gently.

"Can you feed on just anyone? And yeah, I get that it's somehow beneficial to you, but I've heard things about vamp—I mean Kindred—ripping people's throats out. I can't see where killing is all that life-affirming."

A hideous scowl momentarily twisted Jasmine's pretty features."Rogues," she spat. "They have no understanding of our ways, of the beauty in the exchange—they only know the flush of power gained in Feeding and seek to glut themselves on it. Kindred are not meant to be alone, Intended; we need our mates, our families, our Clans to stay sane and whole. Rogues have no family. No sanity. They are lawless wretches who know nothing but bloodlust and self-gratification. No healthy Kindred would take what was not freely offered. It is rare to come across Kindred so abused or starving that they fall into bloodlust. Generally there is no need to kill—no reason to kill beyond wanton depravity, and those that do are no kin of mine," she finished vehemently.

"We have strict laws that govern Feeding," Etienne continued. "During the new moon, when our primal essence is strongest, we are called to blood and to the sharing. It is meant to be sensual and joyous, but as you know, what something is may be perverted by popular imagination, especially when monsters masquerading as Kindred help the misperceptions along."

"I don't understand why so many Rogues put your society at risk like that," Harry questioned.

"Nor do I," Etienne responded tightly. "They have been granted the precious gifts of enhanced life, yet they disdain life and encourage those who seek our destruction. Rogues do not fear our laws, though they are subject to them. The penalty for violating the sanctity of Feeding is death, and Weirwardens are formidable enemies."

"Weirwardens?"

"They are enforcers. They hunt Rogues and bring them to justice. We do not leave monsters to roam the countryside unchecked, Aerun. Though we cannot undo the wrongs they've committed, we can do our best to ensure there are no further victims when we learn of a Rogue's actions. Each Clan has Weirwardens who patrol their territories, investigate suspected crimes, and mete out justice in accordance with our laws. They are also the ones to offer Mercy to the victims of Rogue attacks."

"What is Mercy, Etienne?" Harry asked riveted by the conversation.

"A peaceful and painless passing from this life if the victim's injuries are too severe for treatment or turning."

"So Weirwardens are killers," Aerun stated blankly.

Annoyance flashed over Etienne's features, "If death is what a victim chooses, then Weirwardens provide that service rather than allowing them to linger in agony. There are those so frightened of us, who so abhor us, that death is preferable to being turned."

"Victims of attacks are offered turning," Harry interjected, sensing the growing hostility between his guide and fellow Intended. "How else does someone become Kindred?"

Etienne softened his glare and nodded gratefully at Harry. "A Kindred may come before the Clan Council and argue for a beloved or a dear friend; a stranger may come among us and petition, having learned our ways. Turning is not just the last resort of the desperate or dying. It is not an easy undertaking. There must be deep conviction and commitment on the part of the prospective chylde and equal dedication from her or his new family."

Harry sighed. There was so much he was learning, so much that reconfigured what he thought he knew about these so-called Dark creatures. He wished, not for the first time, that the Kindred weren't so ardently secretive. Relations between them and wizards could be—should be—so much better.

_Maybe there could be some kind of ambassador? I'll have to ask Etienne about that_.

"It's getting late." Jasmine interrupted his musings. "Let us take all this up again later. Perhaps after the fires?"

After a tentative agreement the men excused themselves and made their way back to their suites. Harry and Etienne quietly parted from Aerun and crossed the greenspace to Harry's apartment.

"You've been very quiet, Harry. Is everything all right?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine, Etienne. You just gave me a lot to think about tonight, is all."

"In good ways, I hope," Etienne offered with an intent look. "You are among us to learn and know us, Harry. And the truth of it is that like any other culture we have our complexities. Do not judge us by the actions of a cursed few. Please."

Harry smiled faintly and clasped Etienne's slender shoulder. "No, I wouldn't. I won't. You're a very diverse people—like everybody else there's good, bad, and a lot of in-between."

"Truly," Etienne nodded. "Now," the Seer grinned, pulling a small cloth pouch from his robes, "on to more practical things!" He cupped Harry's hand in his and upended the pouch so six small pebbles tumbled into the wizard's palm. "These are—"

"Rune stones," Harry finished.

"Yes. These have the most basic protective runes on them. Children will buy stones like these in the market to make little tokens for their friends usually. You should know what each character means over the next few days."

Harry smirked. "Let me guess: there'll be a quiz."

"Exactly right!" Etienne chirped.

Harry stroked his index finger over the pebbles and nodded. It would be a fun challenge to work out the impressions on each. He was pouring them back into their pouch when Ulrike came gliding through the window. "Hello, girl! What do you have there?" Harry quickly tied the pouch and set it on the desk next to Ulrike's perch, then took the letter she carried from her talons. "You were certainly fast with that. Thank you." She preened and took a treat from his hand.

Harry glanced at the address and smiled. "It's from my friends at home," he said to Etienne, who nodded and stepped toward the door.

"I'll leave you to it, then. Have a good night, Harry."

"Thanks. Good night, Etienne." He waved slightly as the door closed, then settled himself on the couch with his letter.

_Dear Harry, _

_We're so glad to hear from you. I'm relieved that you arrived safely, though you'll remember I did tell you that international Portkey would be a much more convenient way to travel. I looked into a few things and the region where you're staying sounds perfectly lovely. How did you meet Marjeta, and however did she convince you to abandon your initial plans so quickly? I hope you're being careful; there is such a thing as being too trusting, you know. Does her family own the inn where you are now staying? Is it a Wizarding place or Muggle? Both? You'll have to let me know how it goes there, especially if it's Muggle-friendly. Mum and Dad have been talking about visiting Prague for ages and I'd love to give them a recommendation. _

_We're all doing fine here. The kids miss their Uncle Harry, though Rosie's already asking what you'll bring her when you get back. I swear, that girl! _

_Ron and I can't wait to hear all about your trip. I hope you're eating properly and getting enough sleep._

_Love, _

_Hermione_

_P.S. Hedwig and Ulrike get along famously. What kind of owl is she? I've never seen one like her before; she's such a beautiful bird._

* * *

Reever Stillcreek huddled deeper in the darkened alcove. The chill from the stone and the deepening night settled in his bones. He clenched his jaw so his teeth wouldn't chatter. No, that was a lie; his tight muscles weren't proof against the cold, they were to keep his fear from giving him away to the city guards, who at that moment were dragging away his fellow conspirator and sometime lover. He peeked out of his concealed spot to see Casimir thrashing between the arms of two guardsmen.

"I demand you unhand me!" he heard Casimir shriek. "I swear I had nothing to do with Lord Prakash's death. Nothing! I swear it! Let me go! Let me go, damn you!" Casimir struggled, but the guards did not loosen their grip.

Reever shook his head. All their plans were coming apart. There'd been Kindred slaughtered by Hunters in the Gardens, Lord Prakash was dead and branded a traitor, and now Casimir was taken in by the guards. He fingered the missive Casimir had passed him earlier that day. It had made no sense to him—fifteen strange symbols under a long passage in Latin. "_You_ don't need to understand it," Casimir had scoffed when Reever had questioned him. "Just deliver it to Lord Barnabus as quickly as possible."

But now Casimir was arrested and the guards were sure to be looking for Reever soon; he knew Casimir would have no compunction about naming his fellow conspirators if he thought it would gain him a lighter sentence. Could he get to Lord Barnabus before the guard found him? Perhaps if he turned himself in the Council would be lenient? Treason was a capital offence, and Reever did not want to die. He fingered the parchment again. No, he did not want to die, but he questioned now whether Lord Barnabus held the key to his survival.


	13. Chapter 13

**13.**

"There are too many unknown variables in this situation, Kingsley. We need to know what McNair was doing on Cormorant Island and what artefacts he was trying to smuggle in or out of the country. From Mundungus' reports we know he had long been on commission to procure a specific item of immense power, but in all this time we've had no success in determining which object, or the names of his employers."

Kingsley nodded solemnly. "That's true up to this point, but we may have a lead on the location of the people who contracted him. Recent travel records indicate McNair last took an international Portkey to Prague. He stayed in the region for two days before returning home. I've dispatched an Auror operative to try and track his movements there. The last report mentioned that McNair was not in contact with any of the better known Dark Arts practioners or antiquities dealers in the area, so he wasn't there conducting general business—he had a specific contact and destination. If we can determine where and who, perhaps we can discover what he received or delivered."

Dumbledore agreed that this was their best avenue of investigation for the moment and advised Kingsley to keep him apprised of any new developments. Hilary McNair had carved himself a niche in the post-war underworld as a procurer of Dark antiques, but he had proven wily and had been able to evade charges and prosecution for smuggling and Dark Arts dealing until his death. The blue residue around his nose and mouth was an unknown poison, and the Ministry had analysts working to identify its components.

Clearly this was a case of jackals turning on each other. Maybe a case of retaliation for a double-cross, or perhaps to silence the man about dealings he'd had with a particular client, but what worried the wizened wizard the most were the whispers that had surrounded McNair for years—that he was searching for a means of resurrecting Voldemort from the dead. Dumbledore was very concerned that perhaps the dealer had stumbled on some ancient tome or object that would rally the remaining Death Eaters still at large, granting them the power to unleash Voldemort's brand of evil on the world once more. Little did he know that the reality was far worse than his imaginings.

Deep in the catacombs beneath House Uncas, Barnabus carefully prepared a ritual floor. Painstakingly he copied the archaic symbols from the decaying grimoire to the newly polished stone. All he'd undertaken over the past years was coming to fruition. The loss of Prakash was a regrettable setback, but ultimately the traditionalist was expendable. What mattered most was gaining the power of the blade so he could kill the upstart Lord Draconis during The Choosing and take control of the Clans.

One of his spies among the city guards had brought him word of Casimir's imminent arrest that afternoon, which was another regrettable loss as the man had proved exceedingly useful over the years, serving as Barnabus' agent in the dining rooms and parlours of Kindred high society and subtly recruiting to his cause, gaining financial and political support, being his Barnabus' eyes and ears, but the courtier had been too cavalier and careless in handling the Prakash situation. Using the same poison the Tipu lord had used to dispatch the whelp McNair had a certain poetic irony, but to do so where he could be so easily caught had been a sophomoric mistake. One that would ultimately prove fatal, Barnabus reflected with a smirk, and he dipped his stylus into the unicorn blood for the next sigil.

"Elos Anderson of Gwalchmai, Andrea Lois of Herzl, Dubey Fuinel of Uncas..."Casimir struggled but succumbed again to the power of Marjeta's magic. "Cas Winterlove of Tor, Regina Sohoor of Romney..." The list of names continued in a wooden monotone as Marjeta forced her way through the man's mind, crushing his will with her own. Draco stood in the corner, his lips tight and demeanour foreboding as the list of those conspiring against his rule grew.

"Who else?" Marjeta growled from across the interrogation table. "Who else plots treason against our Lord?"

Casimir moaned softly, cradling his head as she released his mind for a moment. "No...no one...no one b-but—"

"But who?" Lightening-fast, Draco crossed the room and lifted Casimir from his chair. Fist tight around Casimir's collar, Draco shook him violently, the man flopping like a rag doll in Draco's vise-like grip. "Who else would betray me? Who leads you, jinrij?"

Casimir gurgled and clawed at his throat. "Answer me!" Draco commanded, shaking him once more. He released the traitor, letting him drop to the floor.

"I—I cannot," Casimir gasped, panting harshly. "Please, have mercy." Claws out, Draco slapped him, tearing bloody gashes open across Casimir's face.

"Denvit pja! You dare ask me for mercy?" Drawing back his foot, Draco kicked Casimir in the stomach, causing him to double over. "On pain of death you will answer—who is the leader of this rebellion?"

Pale-faced and shaking Casimir shook his head. "I have sw-sworn an oath. I cannot answer."

Draco's lip curled with derision. "I care nothing for your so-called honour. You can tell me freely or—" he paused and looked at Marjeta and the feral light of anticipation gleaming in her eyes— "or I can leave you to the Lady Castellan's tender mercies."

Casimir paled further, his eyes widening as he whimpered, "No! No, please, please! I cannot bear her tearing through my mind! It burns—sears like acid, freezes like ice. No more of that torture, I beg you!"

"Then speak, Casimir."

Realising his utter defeat, the disgraced man resolutely raised his face. "Our leader will be High Lord of the Clans. His majesty will purge the blight of your reign from our noble history. Long may he rule all Kindred in glory." He took a stuttering breath, the one he knew to be his last as breaking the oath would end his life. "Hail, Lor—"

The oath's magic closed his throat as spasms shook his body. Casimir's eyes rolled to the back of his head and bloody froth poured from his mouth. The room's two guards rushed forward to hold him as he thrashed violently at Draco's feet, but even as they reached to lay hands on him the convulsions stopped. Casimir lay staring into nothing as his lungs collapsed and his heart burst in his chest.

Draco spat on the ground beside the fallen courtier. "Oronle wen bacil, dzien ka hia nal. Bastard." He waved his hand. "Take him away. Send a message to Lady Victoria of House Romney that Eudora Stanislaw may claim her son for private internment. There will be no rites for the traitor."

"As you will, my Lord." The guards stood and conjured a stretcher. As they levitated the body away, Draco turned to his seneschal.

"Twenty-seven conspirators. I want them all brought in now and questioned as soon as possible. I will have the name of their leader even if their damned oath kills every last one of them."

"Of course, Abre hir. I will dispatch guards with warrants immediately." Marjeta bowed her head.

"The interrogations will take time, but postponing the Amoraj further is unacceptable. I will attend the fires tomorrow and proceed to the Courting the day after as planned. I am at greater risk the longer I am unmated, so The Choosing must not be delayed."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed out a sigh of frustration. "Have the arrests made and put all suspects in holding. It's late and we all need some sleep before morning. I want you fresh for this, Marjeta. You'll be pushing your skills to the limit in the coming days."

"I know, but it's worth it to keep you safe." She stood and crossed the room to take his hand. "We will stop them, Draco. This I promise you."

The High Lord offered her a faint, tired smile. "I know, Cousin. Thank you."

"It is my honour and pleasure to serve, Abre hir. You have led us well and will do so for centuries to come."

Draco squeezed her hand gently. "By Gaea's grace. Now to bed, enough of this for now. Let's go get some sleep."

"_Tonight let me hold you," he whispered. His lover was tired. So tired, soul-weary. They lay on their sides before the warm flames, snuggled down in a bed of furs. The brush of soft bristles tingled on his skin as he moved closer to this lover, pressing his chest against that strong back, sliding his tawny hand across a naked hip and up over the striated muscles of his belly. His lover relaxed further into him and sighed contentedly. "Amta naur."_

_They moved together languidly, trading kisses and tender caresses as the fire warmed their bodies and their ardour heated their blood. He held him ever closer, wanting nothing more than to meld with this man, to claim and be claimed by his perfect body. But there would be time for that; now was for gentle loving, for the touches that said, "I am here, your cares are safe with me." He kissed him again, smoothing his hand down the hard planes of his chest. "Who are you?" he asked, licking a stripe over the shell of his lover's ear. _

"_You know me, amta ame. I am yours."_

Harry yawned and stretched.

_Another night, another dream. I really need to ask Etienne about this. He'll know what's going on._

Today he rushed through his morning ablutions and quickly drew on the white robes Etienne had told him were best suited for attending the funeral fires, as white was the customary colour of Kindred mourning.

Elly was just serving him breakfast when Etienne arrived. "Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning."

"Did you have good news from your friends and did you sleep well?" Etienne asked, serving himself eggs from the bowl on the table.

Harry nodded around a piece of toast. "My friends are fine. They just want me to have a good time. And I slept well. I always sleep well here, but I've been having strange dreams."

Etienne looked up sharply from his plate. "What sorts of dreams?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know exactly. Mostly," he blushed, "erotic dreams of a shadowy lover. I can't ever see him, but I feel I know him. It's like we've always been together, but what's weird is he speaks to me in Lurèaldon, so I know these aren't normal dreams. Do you know what's happening to me?"

Etienne smiled faintly. "Yes. These are Mates' Dreams. You have a Kindred mate, Harry. Whether he is the High Lord or not, I cannot say for I do not know, but I can say there is a soul that calls to yours for completion. These dreams happen rarely. You've been granted a gift."

"So," Harry leaned toward his guide, "these aren't something the High Lord sends to all the Intended?"

"Oh, no." Etienne shook his head. "No one can control such dreams. They are highly personal between mates. Perhaps they are guided by the gods and fates, but when the time is right your mate will be revealed to you. You will see and _know_ his face."

Harry frowned. "But will I know soon? It's weird that I'm—well, it's like I'm being courted by two different people at the same time. I'm here for the Amoraj, and there's no guarantee that I'll end up with Draco, but I'm also meeting a man in my dreams that might or might not be Draco. How am I going to know who's the one for me?"

"The lover of your dreams is your mate. And perhaps it is our Lord. Though if it is not, there is no obstacle to you becoming friends with your one-time rival. The Courting invites a certain intimacy and it is my hope you will finally be able to put aside all traces of your former animosity toward Lord Draconis."

"Maybe." Harry shrugged. "I'm more willing to get to know him better. I like the man I've met, so far. It's just all very confusing, Etienne. I don't have any ready answers to anything."

"And no one says you have to at the moment, Harry. Continue as you have been, learning about us, being among us. You'll find the answers you seek. I must say that I am quite pleased about your dreams, that you will have a Kindred mate. I've grown quite fond of you and would like to have you around for some time yet."

Harry held his hands up in alarm. "Whoa, now, Etienne, don't go marrying me off just yet. I have a life in Britain, and I'm not just going to give everything up to move to The Citadel. If I have a mate here, then we're going to have to compromise."

"True, and those compromises will be for you to work out later." Etienne nodded gently. "But in the meanwhile I can start you on learning more about what you'll need to know as a mate. Things about bonds and our laws and customs. Things you'll eventually need to know should you accept your mate."

"What if I don't?" Harry sighed. "What if I just can't accept that I'm mated to a Kindred? In a way it's like having the fates mess with my life even more. I don't even get a choice in who I'll spend my life with? And what about kids? I want kids, Etienne. My dream lover is a man. I just don't know if any of this is going to work."

"Stop fretting, Harry," Etienne sighed. "Such a worrier. It will be...difficult for your mate should you decide to decline the bond. Very difficult. Kindred are not meant to go through life alone. It will be harder for him than it will be for you, as he will pine for perhaps a very long time, and eventually perish from grief."

Harry was horrified. "He'll die?"

"Yes." Etienne's mien was sober. "As I said, Harry, we are not meant to be alone. To be mated is our highest aspiration. That bond is paramount, and so profound that upon the death of one, the other will shortly follow, as the soul cannot be long separated from its twin. An incomplete bond will wear at the Kindred soul until there is no more lust for life, no more instinct to survive, and the spirit will fade."

"I'm holding the power over someone's life or death? Etienne, I don't want that kind of power!"

"It is as it must be, Harry. The fates have chosen you. There is nothing so sublime as bonding. This is not a punishment or a burden, Harry. This is a gift. Embrace it."

"So much to try to understand, to struggle with." Harry shook his head.

"Then take your time and work through it. I was going to bring you to the Great Gallery this morning, but I think instead you should take some time to do some reflecting. Go wander the Kynaston and I will find you when it is time to attend the fires."

"I think that might be a good idea. If I get lost can I call Elly from anywhere?"

"Yes," Etienne nodded. "She can find you anywhere in The Citadel and guide you back here. So, really, go exploring." He stood and smoothed down his long white tunic. "I hope you will find some peace in your wanderings, Harry."

Harry offered him a wobbly smile. "I'm going to try, Etienne. Thank you."

Harry set off, intent on going in whichever direction his feet took him. He stopped now and again to admire a sculpture here or a mosaic there; to make out the stories told in the carved banisters; to admire the detailing in the leafy cornices and the genius of the patterns on the tiled floors. For a long while he was content in a courtyard of fountains; and as spouts of water leapt merrily across a wide reflecting pool, he wondered.

_Can I really tie myself to a stranger? Bind myself to him to save his life? What about my life? Would I be giving up everything? I love my job, helping people get well, but there are Healing Houses here and in other Kindred settlements. I love my friends, but there's nothing to say we can't still live near each other or visit often. Actually, there's nothing to say I have to make my life where he is...unless he is Draco, and then everything changes. I'd have to be a leader if my mate is Malfoy, someone people would depend on to help them run things. That'd be...a challenge. I'd have to learn all the intricacies of high society like I did for the Ministry those few years after the war before I started Healer training. But then I could really help change things, maybe—be that ambassador to help bring Kindred and Wizard society together. And I'd have the time to do it, since I'd be turned._

_And Merlin, there's a frightening thought as well. What will it be like becoming a vampire? Enhanced senses, increased strength, longer life—nothing so terrible. Sharing blood? Etienne and Jasmine made it seem like something wondrous, miraculous even. I've always wanted to bond to someone deeply. To love and be loved like we're a universe unto ourselves...just like I feel in my dreams..._

Harry sat back with a smile. They'd work out the details, but the rightness of acceptance resonated within him. Just like that it all clicked into place. He _was_ going to be mated.

Despite the minefield he was currently picking his way through, Draco felt rested and clear-headed. He sent up a prayer of thanks to the gods and thoughts of gratitude to his faceless mate. For now he set his mind to the sparring grounds. From now on he planned to wear his knives at all times, and he needed to keep his skills as sharp as his steel. He'd taken a serious hit from the Hunters and could ill afford another such mistake, with so many enemies closing in on him.

He dressed in a white linen tunic and fawn dragonhide breeches, pulled on tan leather boots worn butter-soft by so much use, and set out to met Fidel on the field.

His guards posted sentry on the balconies above the training ground and Draco climbed down the flight of worn stone steps to wait for his training partner. The ground was hard beneath his feet; beaten and tramped down over countless centuries, the earth was packed firmly.

He stood waiting, stretching, oblivious to how the sun beamed down, burnishing the white-gold tresses that tumbled down his shoulders. Unaware of the beauty in his poise or the brilliant flash of life in his quicksilver eyes.

Centred and ready, he went through the motions of his routine. Through countless practices the movements had become second nature, the rhythm ingrained. It was like a dance he could lose himself in, step following step, thrust following parry; over and again he glided through each stance, every movement offering an attack or defence against unseen foes.

Fidel arrived and the combatants saluted each other. The newcomer charged first. Draco offered little challenge in the beginning, choosing to allow his partner to push him back. But he met the charge with fluid economy of movement, blocking blows easily.

He surged forward then, advancing toward Fidel and pushing the sword master back, attacking faster and faster, the flashing blades swinging dangerously as he targeted the other man's stomach, arm, then neck and chest. They circled each other, dancing a hazardous waltz.

From the fountain courtyard Harry had followed the sound of clanging steel and stood now on a balcony overlooking the training yard. He was amazed by the strength and speed and agility of the sword fighters. And his breath caught when he realised that one of the fair-haired warriors below him was Draco.

He watched, mesmerised, as the pair traded attacks in an unpredictable rhythm, faster and more ruthless as long minutes passed. Finally he saw where Draco's opponent had left his right side exposed, having not shifted back far enough to align himself after his last parry. It was a minor flaw in his stance, but the High Lord pressed his advantage, and with a swiping thrust he backed the other man into the wall with a blade against his throat.

"I yield," Harry heard the man say. Then Draco took a step back and they bowed to each other.

Unable to help himself, Harry clapped his hands in appreciation of the amazing display of strength and strategy he'd witnessed. He realised a moment too late that the combatants hadn't known they'd drawn a spectator, and he flushed with embarrassment but called out anyway. "That was fantastic!"

Draco raised his hand to his eyes to make out the figure on the balcony. After a moment, he realised it wasn't the bright sun that obscured his vision and grinned. "Seketh ame! Well met. Come down and join us!"

Harry felt out of place but did as he was bidden, making his way slowly down the long stone staircase. "I didn't mean to interrupt," he said as soon as he was near enough to be heard without shouting.

"No, it's no problem really," Draco smiled. "Fidel and I could use the constructive criticism if you have some to offer." He shook his head, chuckling. "Don't bother if you're just going to tell me how much I was off form, though."

"I don't know enough about swordplay to tell either way, I'm afraid." Harry shrugged. "But I did think you were both very good. Congratulations on the win, your Lordship, er—Highness, um..."

The High Lord chucked more again. "Just Draco, Raure. Which reminds me that I have no manners. Sword master Fidel, this is Intended Raure. Raure, sword master Fidel of Corbinian."

"I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Intended." Fidel bowed deeply.

"And I yours." Harry held out his hand and the two men shook. He was taken aback by the heavy calluses and the number of scars on the sword master's weathered hand.

The ruddy-faced Kindred smiled at Harry's shocked look. "I've taken many hits over the years. Not all of my students were as fast to learn as our Lord."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, old friend." Draco smirked and slung a nearby towel around his neck. "I plan to pummel you tomorrow as well."

"You can try." Fidel inclined his head slightly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have second year guards to train in fifteen minutes."

"Of course." Draco nodded. "Thank you for the match."

"It is my pleasure, Abre hin."

As the sword master walked away, Draco turned to Harry. "What brings you this far into the Kynaston without your guide, Intended?"

"I just needed to clear my head a bit. I was planning to call one of the house servants to help me get back."

"Well, then, since I need to go that way, how about if I accompany you instead?"

"Is that allowed? I mean, it's not our Courting day yet. Is it okay that we're together?"

"Yes." Draco smiled again. "It would be very inconvenient if I had to avoid all the places I might run into an Intended through the entire Amoraj. The Day of Courting is for us to spend some concentrated time together, but there's no rule against us conversing or meeting each other outside of that time. Abigail Joyce, one of the newly Honoured, was here a month before the next Intended showed up. We spent several evenings together playing chess, actually. Delightful woman."

"I noticed that all the Honoured were women. Do you have a preference for men?"

"No, I have no preferences—or had none, I should say—but I felt that my mate would be male. And the Presentation just confirmed it."

Harry cocked his head and shot Draco a sideways look. "Does it bother you at all, having to marry someone you barely know? Tying yourself to someone for life based on a few days of talking?"

Draco guided Harry up the stairs with his hand on the small of his back. "Not really. Before my transformation I had expected that mine would be an arranged marriage. I look at this a little in the same vein. We won't know each other all that well in the beginning, but with time and effort we will grow something fulfilling and moving for both of us. The Great Mother has led me to this point in my life, Raure; I have not been wrong to trust in her. She will guide me to the one I am meant to be with, I fully believe that. And honestly, I look forward to it."

"I'm glad you have that kind of faith."

"Do you not?"

"No, I do. I've come to accept a lot of things in the last few days. And I think things will work out exactly as they're meant to."

"It's good to have faith." Draco patted the spot where his hand sat on Harry's back, sending a rush of warmth through Harry, and the wizard smiled.

It took them nearly an hour to get back to Harry's apartment. They talked a fair bit of the things Harry had enjoyed best during his stay so far. Debated the outcome of the last Quidditch World Cup. And of course, Draco answered Harry's stream of questions. He was laughing heartily at his companion when they reached the suite's doors. "You are too much, Raure. Etienne was so right about you."

In good spirits Harry playfully narrowed his eyes. "And just what was that?"

"Well—"

"Oh, no! Don't go getting me in trouble, my Lord." Etienne turned the corner and came up quickly on the High Lord and Intended.

"All right," Draco smirked, "I'll keep your secrets. And leave you to your charge and his thousand and one questions." The vampire lord turned to leave. "It was good to have some time with you, Raure. I will see you both at the fires. Goenan rindha."

He'd rounded the corner when he heard Raure ask his guide, "What does that phrase mean?" and laughed aloud. The wizard's curiosity and impetuosity were so refreshing. Raure was proving more intriguing upon every encounter.


End file.
